


Laying The Ghosts

by Britpacker



Series: The Way Back [2]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-06
Updated: 2012-03-07
Packaged: 2018-08-15 17:05:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8064850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Britpacker/pseuds/Britpacker
Summary: Sequel to The Way Back. Newly a couple, Trip and Malcolm make some visits home, learn a few things about each other, and face a few demons in the process.





	1. London: I

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** Not mine, no beta etc, etc, etc.  
>  Set directly after The Way Back, with Trip and Malcolm meeting some relatives and facing a few painful memories on Earth.  
> I'm trying to explore character and motivation rather than anything more basic!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm brings his new beau to meet the only presentable Reed

"I still can't believe she couldn't rearrange to pick up her brother from the goddamn space port! Jee- _sus_! How long's it been since you last saw her?"

"About five years, not that it's any of your business." What Reed had intended as a curt rejoinder sounded like the shrilling of a petulant child in the cavernous back of their black London hydrocab. "Madeleine has potential clients to meet, and I'm sorry if it offends your tender sensibilities but her new business is more important than an hour sitting in a traffic jam getting a crick in her neck from peering over her shoulder trying to talk to me."

"If that's the way you feel, okay." His partner was twisting and untwisting long fingers in his lap, tension in every line of him, and Tucker was painfully aware of their driver, his shoulders rigid as he fought the urge to glance around at his querulous passengers. "I just thought she might've sent one of her staff, seeing as how it's been so long since you came home."

"And I suppose you'd also think it perfectly reasonable for the captain to send - oh, I don't know, Crewman Rostov, perhaps, or Ensign Tanner, to initiate contact with a new species."

"If Johnny thought there was a good reason for it - why not?"

The sidelong look his way implied he'd just done enough to forfeit a pass at his next psych review. "It may be the Tucker way to mollycoddle one's relatives, but it's not ours," Reed rapped out, only the undertow of hurt in the words preventing a yowl of indignant protest. "We're quite capable of getting a cab - as we've proven - and Madeleine transmitted her code before we left spacedock. I really don't see what your issue is."

"Okay, I get it." He was still right, Trip told himself sternly; he was backing down to prevent Mal getting any more worked up than he already was, and though he'd deny it 'til his ears turned Andorian, Lieutenant Imperturbable had been a jittery wreck since breakfast. "We got much further to go?"

"Another couple of minutes. All these old Victorian warehouses are posh flats now." By a quarter of a degree Malcolm thawed, reaching out to grip his partner's fingers in wordless apology. "Mad was quite chuffed to be able to afford a river view, but she _did_ say it meant a pretty substantial compromise on space."

"Long as we got a bed and a john, I'm happy." Amiably Trip draped his arm around the smaller man. "Hell we've not got much more on Enterprise!"

The cabbie's shoulders heaved. Malcolm kicked his ankle. "Sorry," he mouthed.

All clothing and baggage with their vessel's ID had been removed from his stack of possessions before disembarking, and throughout their flight from San Francisco Reed had jumped or flinched when anyone looked their way. If he hadn't known better, Trip would have suspected his man was ashamed. 

Screw that. He'd begun to think it anyway when Mal stuck his head into a book the minute they were airborne. It was only when he'd caught a female passenger staring, who blushed, glanced away and whispered to her neighbour before they both turned to stare again, that his publicity-shy attitude made sense.

Neither man spoke again until they were outside a vast structure of dark red, crumbly brick, its gargantuan dullness alleviated by six matched rows of large plate-glass windows each framed by a wood-effect balcony, rucksacks dropped at their feet. "You _did_ say there's an elevator to Maddie's floor?" Trip suggested doubtfully, letting his eyes make a slow climb to the railed roof terrace. Malcolm rolled his eyes.

"The shell's Victorian but even on this side of the pond we'd got the hang of electricity by the twenty-first century," he drawled, swaying back from the roadside as an outdated battery-powered service van trundled by. "We've been dropped at the servants' entrance by the look of it! Come on."

Inside the dank, dark cavern of the former quayside storehouse had been replaced with a pine-and-mirrored lobby; metal staircases branched off the main hall climbing like a spindly steel forest canopy and between their trunks a pair of turbolifts stood waiting. "Floor five?" Tucker questioned before hitting the button.

"Flat fifteen," Reed affirmed, leaning back against the wall. "Second on the left."

"It'll be okay." It was a risk, but where angels feared to tread, Tuckers charged like demented rhinos. "She said we were welcome, remember?"

"I know." If anyone else had read his mind so easily Malcolm would have been mortified, but the greatest proof of his love he could give to Trip was this willingness to be vulnerable before him. "It's just - oh, fuck! I don't know _what_ it is!"

"I do." The lift stopped, doors whooshing open, but Tucker halted his escape with a gentle hand. "You're letting somebody in, Malcolm: showin' Maddie who you are and what _we_ are. I'm guessin' that's a big deal for a Reed."

"And something no Tucker would think twice about." Wearily he shucked off the loving touch, tears like tiny diamonds glinting on his eyelashes. "God only knows what I'd be like facing Mum and Dad!"

"Let's cross that bridge when we have to, okay?" Forlorn and uncertain Malcolm was unbearably kissable, but somehow in this strange environment Trip didn't dare take that step. "You got the code?"

Something of the Armoury Officer's swagger returned to Reed's posture as he tapped his brow. "In here," he drawled. "Oh!"

"Malcolm, at _last_!" Through an open doorway to their left emerged a small white-blonde bundle of noise enveloped in a cloud of white dust that identified itself as icing sugar the moment it kissed Trip's bottom lip. Wiping one hand on a floral apron, Madeleine Reed extended her neck like an exuberant pigeon pecking at her brother's cheeks. 

One hand hovering at her hip Malcolm returned the gesture, making just enough contact to avoid the accusation of an air-kiss. "You're home early," he commented, standing patient as a pack-animal while his sister petted and fussed. "I thought..."

"Oh, they took one look at my plans and signed me up n the spot. Gosh, I'm sorry, I've got icing sugar all over you!"

"I'll live." For a moment brother and sister regarded each other, evidently searching for something, then Malcolm smiled his rare, unguarded smile. "Anyway, Mad, this is Commander Charles Tucker the Third - I'll call him than now, because otherwise he'll only ever answer to Trip. Trip, my sister, Madeleine Reed."

"Honestly Malc, do you have to be so _formal_?" Still brushing her hands the younger Reed turned on her heel to fix him with big blue-grey eyes the mirror image of her brother's ever-changing grey-blues. A fleshy little white hand hastily rubbed clean was offered his way, lily-white, full cheeks acquiring a peach hue under his cautious smile. "How do you do, Commander - please, come in before Mrs Hubbard across the hall starts banging on the door."

"Thank you." They couldn't have been more correct, Tucker decided, before a full board of bemedalled admirals, and neither of them even noticed. He followed Madeleine into her airy, open-plan lounge/dining room, helpless to repress a snicker at the sight of Malcolm playfully tugging a forelock from his place on door duty. When his butt was pinched too he wanted to jig round the room for joy.

_His_ Malcolm was still there behind the ingrained layers of Reed formality. All he had to do now was persuade that reclusive creature to emerge in front of somebody else. 

"How was your flight, Commander?" Madeleine, he realised, was going to stand until he took the hint and eased himself down onto one of her delicate doll's house armchairs. Grinding his teeth against its inevitable creak beneath his weight, he wagged a finger.

"Uh-oh, like Malcolm said, I only answer to Trip out of uniform," he teased, blotting out the stab in his gut at the sight of her peeking at her brother for reassurance before venturing a careful smile. "We got stared at and whispered about most of the way across..."

"How ghastly for you!"

As old-fashioned as Malcolm when startled, or trying nervously to be proper. The small familiarity at least eased Trip's internal cramps

"We expected it," he said, bottom lip snagged between his teeth as he leaned warily backward. Madeleine's eyes twinkled with silver lights.

"They're not as fragile as they look - I had them specially made by a friend of mine," she said, then looked shocked by her bluntness. Trip tried his most engaging grin.

"Guess you get good contacts in your line of work," he volunteered. "And it's real kind of you to let us stay, being so busy with your new business and all."

"It's quite all right." The phase was uttered so quickly he knew at once it was the feminine version of her brother's _I'm-fine-with-a-Romulan-mine-spike-through-my-thigh_. "After all I wouldn't dream of letting Malc slum it in a hotel - they're so expensive - and it's a pleasure to meet someone he's talked about so much."

"Really?" Reed was blushing fiercely, the colour trickling from his prominent cheekbones to pool in the hollows beneath. His sister puckered her thin lips.

"Oh, absolutely! Malc doesn't usually mention his friends in letters, so I've been itching to meet you. I suppose you'd like to unpack and freshen up?"

"That would be nice." Platinum fire sparking from his eyes Malcolm squeezed between them, just stopping a squeak when Trip returned the ass-pinching favour. Madeleine raised a well-plucked brow, but made no comment.

"The spare room's a bit _small_ ," she said critically, pointing them to the third door off a narrow corridor. "Bathroom's in the middle, and my room's on the other side. If you'd rather swap, I'll happily move over for the week..."

"Now we couldn't let that happen, could we, Mal?" A single bed and a free-standing wardrobe left two corridors of carpet just wide enough for one person to move around at a time, and the tiny window would allow a bare chink of light even with the blinds opened up. Looping an arm around his boyfriend Tucker beamed, absently noticing the finger-twisting of brother and sister alike. "Heck, we manage just fine with my lil' bunk on Enterprise!"

Stricken silence crashed over him like an Arctic tsunami while volcanic heat rushed up the faces of both Reeds. "Oh, well, that's all right, then," Madeleine babbled, almost tripping over herself in her haste to escape. "I'll, erm, I'll go and make some coffee, shall I?"

"Please," Malcolm answered faintly. He waited until she was out of sight before collapsing, jelly-legged, against the taller man. "God, that was embarrassing!"

A gulp of his lover's woodsy scent kick-started Tucker's heart. "I thought you'd told her what kind of friend I am!" he hissed.

"I had!" Reed shot back, letting himself collapse face-down into the lemon bedspread. "At least, I said I was bringing my new partner: she wasn't exactly going to think we'd started up a scrap metal business, was she?"

The mattress groaned under his weight as Trip perched beside him, one shaky hand running the length of his ramrod spine. "You didn't actually _say_ we're lovers?"

"I'm not in the habit of discussing my sex life with outsiders."

If they hadn't been so muffled the words would have stung. "It's not like you had to tell her how fantastic I am with my mouth or anything," Trip objected, shifting enough to let his partner roll onto his back, hands tucked behind his head. "Aw, shit! I'm sorry, Mal, I didn't mean t' embarrass anyone..."

"I know, love, and we're being prize prudes." _Exactly like Mum and Dad_ , Reed realised, chills dripping down his spine at the stark truth. "We just don't discuss these things in my family. I'd never actually mentioned to Mads that I'm bi, unless you count that ill-considered explosion of mine the last time we tried a family dinner..."

"I doubt she's forgotten." The longer they hid in Madeleine Reed's spare room, Tucker figured, the harder coming out to face the woman would be. "C'mon, let's get unpacked before our coffee goes cold. She got a boyfriend?"

Stopped in the act of rising, Reed gnawed his bottom lip. "She's never mentioned one."

"And you've never asked?" Personal questions of any kind were obviously a family taboo. _No wonder finding out his favourite food was so hard!_

"Of course not! It's none of my business."

He started to laugh, choking it back with the thick, sickly onset of understanding. Malcolm wasn't kidding. 

With a shake of his foggy head Trip threw an arm around his boyfriend's shoulders, pulling him in for a brief, hard kiss before spinning away to grab his bag. "You're gonna think my folks are _really_ rude," he warned, stopping the automatic courtesy with a long finger across parted lips. "Because in the first five minutes they're gonna want to know everything..."

"Not including your outstanding achievements in the field of oral sex, I hope?"

"Malcolm!" The mischief was dancing again in those extraordinary eyes, bright blue lights firing through smoky depths as a supple tongue worked around his index finger. Molten liquid began to bubble in his balls. "Darlin'..."

"Do you take sugar, Trip?" Madeleine's high, girlish voice snapped the sensual spell and with a whimper Reed withdrew, yanking his belongings from the bag with unwonted ferocity. "And I've only got skimmed milk."

"That's great, thanks." Ice cubes down the pants couldn't have cooled his ardour faster. Not pausing to shake out his creased garments Trip hurled everything in the general direction of the closet, rolling his eyes at Malcolm's disapproving mew. The bed, his lover's stormy gaze, the muscles rippling beneath the thin fabric of Malcolm's shirt as he moved... they were all too appealing, and he couldn't. Not with Maddie around.

It was going to be, Trip decided, letting himself be hustled toward the pungent inducement of caffeine, one hell of a long week.


	2. London: I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trip's feeling uncomfortable. That has knock-on effects and there's only one way around them...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ho-hum. So much for avoiding the basic stuff! In my defence the needs of the story drove the rating change; I’m just the slightly bewildered passenger on this journey!

By the time their hostess suggested retiring Tucker was reasonably sure Crewman Orsini could've used his nerves for replacement violin strings. There were no long, awkward silences - just too many _please, thank you_ , and _would you mind awfully_ 's exchanged between Malcolm and the one member of his family whose company he claimed to enjoy. When they ganged up to give him first use of the compact, green-and-white tiled bathroom, Trip couldn't get through the obstacle course of extravagant potted plants filling the narrow hallway fast enough.

And then he spent three minutes lecturing his flushed reflection in a steamed-up little mirror. It wasn't his place to judge Mal's relationship with his sister, just because it differed in just about every way from the Tucker norm. Maddie (she'd requested the diminutive when he complimented her roast beef and Yorkshire pudding two hours after shaking his hand) couldn't have been more considerate and Malcolm had practically glued himself to his side, as if he was determined to clear up any misunderstanding on his sister's part. They both seemed, by Reed standards, more or less relaxed.

He was the one tighter than a porcupine's ass, and he wanted to smack himself in the face for it.

Malcolm had been shooting him those funny, sidelong little looks. Maddie, no less acute for her gentility and sweetly rounded features, knit her fingers restlessly, shuttered gaze flicking from one man to the other and back. Slowly it had dawned on Trip that _he_ was making them jumpy.

He slipped between crisp cotton sheets and tugged them up to his throat, deliberately exaggerating every new breath. From the next room he could hear his lover whistling through his ablutions over the virulent hiss and spit of antiquated plumbing. If he was lucky, maybe he'd be asleep before Malcolm tried to join him.

The harder he tried to will sleep to come, the wider awake he felt, tensing up at the soft pad of bare feet when the Englishman entered the room and dropped his dressing gown with a sigh before inserting himself, unabashedly naked, into the narrow space at Trip's side. As had become their habit his dark head came to rest on Tucker's shoulder, slender form snuggling in close against his flank. "You awake?"

"Yeah."

A slim digit pinged the elastic at his waist. "Cold?"

"'m okay."

The flat of a hand got inside his tank. "D' you need this?" Malcolm wheedled, spreading his fingers wide to tickle as much soft skin as he could. Trip shivered.

"Mal, don't."

Touch was superfluous when that precise English accent got all roughened up with sensual need. "But I want to," Malcolm purred, bringing his other hand into play in the lush whorls of his companion's chest hair. Finger and thumb pinched around a nipple, rolling it to a tender peak while Trip tightened every muscle and bit his lips, willing himself not to respond. "You're so _bloody_ gorgeous and we're all alone in a cosy little box... _please_ , Trip, I need you touching me!"

"Malcolm." Those clever hands and that husky, pleading voice were a maestro's symphony of torment, but just when he wavered he saw Madeleine Reed's sweet, stricken face swim across his mental viewscreen and his libido took a beating. "Baby we can't."

"Mmm, we can." Now the mouth was getting in on the act, sucking and nipping at the base of his throat and he was squirming, delicious panic making his temples pound. Malcolm had a hand down his shorts, manipulating flesh that reared against all his brain's increasingly frantic warnings and his hips were lifting, every nerve receptor starting to sing. Maddie's ominous image was getting fuzzy.

"Malcolm, stop!" 

The panic in his voice made the younger man rock back, and despite the dark Trip read all too clearly the hurt flashing over his face in the split second before his control reasserted itself. Drawing his legs up Reed turned onto his other side, a frost settling over his tautly-held frame that Trip could feel thickening into a hard coat of ice. "Well, if that's the way you feel..."

_Shit, shit, shit!_

The flat of Trip's palm connected solidly with his temple. _Like you don't know how goddamn insecure he is!_

Last night had been the first time they hadn't made love in the three weeks they'd been together: his idea, and a sensible one given their crack-of-dawn shuttle departure from Jupiter Station. Malcolm had acquiesced; even, after a minimal objection, been coaxed into spending the night just curled up in his boyfriend's arms. Trip hadn't given another thought to the momentary start of uncontrolled fear that that ripped through that delectable little body.

And now he'd brushed off advances again. Two nights on the spin. Listening to Reed's ragged breathing, aware of the fine tremors running along his rigid limbs, Tucker saw his own actions from a different viewpoint: that of a vulnerable man, lonely for much of his life, schooled to expect rejection. 

No wonder Lizzie had described her big brother, in a school essay competition no less, as denser than the atmosphere of your average gas giant.

He hovered a hand over Malcolm's shoulder half-expecting to feel the man's body heat blister the work-leathered skin. "Darlin' it's not that I don't wanna," he stumbled, the words scratching past the solid block in his throat. Malcolm's breathing hitched.

"I just feel - I don't know, _awkward_ I guess, touching you that way in Maddie's house. God, I sound pathetic!"

Slowly the hunched ball of misery at his side uncurled, but when he turned on the overhead lamp the Englishman's features were painfully pinched, his lips compressed into a single bloodless line. "Oh darlin' I never meant to hurt you," Tucker breathed against them, tickling his tongue back and forth until he felt them soften, a definite crease inviting the wet muscle to slide deeper. "I just don't want to embarrass anyone, and..."

"Shush love, it's probably our fault." His automated defences, Malcolm discovered, simply went offline in the face of a full-blown Tucker plea assault. He didn't question or doubt, however his sceptical mind screeched its objection: he just melted into the first loving touch, desperate for its innate reassurance. "I thought..."

"I'm an insensitive jerk sometimes." Stopping his lover's demurral with a swipe of the tongue Trip rolled onto his back, carrying the more compact form in a loose, unthreatening hold. "And you're such a paranoid bastard I shoulda known...Never doubt that I want you every minute of every day and night, Malcolm, and I don't just mean for sex. We had to make that shuttle this morning or I'd've been beggin' you to do that _thing_ you do with your hips while you're buried inside me all night long, and tonight..."

"It's all right." Caresses light as butterfly wings were landing in random places from neck to thigh, enough to make even the legendary Reed focus waver, but the urgency tightening that honeyed drawl frightened Malcolm. "I thought you were getting tired of - Trip!"

"That's mah name, Lover-man." Remorseless, he worked the rosy bud between his fingers into a tight, aching peak, muffling the resultant whimpers in another sweet kiss. "Hell, you had your hands in my pants, Mal! Couldn't you _feel_ how much I want you?"

"It could be - autoerotic stimuli." The blond's hips arced off the mattress, an invitation to be rid of that damnable obstruction Malcolm couldn't take fast enough. Hot and silky, Trip's erection pulsed against his open palm and a moist moan was stifled against his neck, the Southerner moving urgently to meet his touch. Paranoia's last sea mist melted away.

"As long as we're - aah! - quiet," he mumbled into his lover's gaping mouth as their trapped erections met and twin gasps swirled between their plastered lips. "Maddie needn't - oh God! - know."

A master of Vulcan Logic probably wouldn't have been impressed: but then no Vulcan, Trip was sure, had ever tried spouting his dumb arguments while being rubbed to madness by Malcolm Reed's magnificent dick. 

Burying both hands in the Brit's silky sable hair he let himself go. Who cared about Madeleine two rooms away while possessed by the heat and light that was her incredible brother? Next time he got self-conscious about being a noisy bastard in bed...

His climax hit him with the force of a star gone supernova and the hazy vow was lost, to be sleepily recalled much later with Malcolm snoring softly in his arms. Next time, he'd sooner be broadcast screaming over a shipwide comm. than see that fearful resignation in his lover's eyes.

His groggy snuffle rolled around the tiny room. _Hell, it'd give Johnny a giggle if nothing else!_

*

He ambled into the kitchen, drawn by the crackle of frying eggs and the sickly-sweet aroma of burning bacon, still fumbling with the top button of his specially selected subdued blue shirt. "Mornin' Maddie. You want a hand with anything?"

"Oh!" Her shimmering ash-blonde hair pulled back into a short ponytail Madeleine whipped round from the grill as if she'd forgotten his existence. "Good morning, Trip. If you wouldn't mind getting the toast..."

"No problem." He should have insisted Mal use the bathroom first. Ostensibly keeping watch on her industrial size platter of bacon, Maddie was actually scrutinising his every move from the corner of her eye. 

Trip knew that, because he was doing the same to her. "This is a real clever kitchen," he tried, thankful his lover couldn't hear the inelegant combination of over-bright tone and thickened accent. "You uh, you design it y'self?"

"Oh, erm, yes, actually. Do you like it?"

"It feels big in here."

Maddie's lily complexion took a pretty rose tinge. "It's the oversized window I had put in, and the layout of the units," she said with a shrug, wiping both hands down her jeans. "It took me ages to plot it out..."

"It was worth it." He was trying not to stare but, never exactly subtle, Trip figured he was failing when a pale copy of her brother's famous half-smile touched one corner of Madeleine's mouth.

"I'm getting my hands dirty today - loft conversion in Islington," she explained, and if he could see her ultra-light eyebrows he knew they would be climbing right up that broad Reed brow. "It's the best part of the job, ripping out the grubby old plasterboard and actually seeing the difference in a matter of hours."

"I'll bet: like strippin' a broken-down old combustion engine and hearin' it purr again at the end of the day."

When her grin widened he realised just how much she had been holding back. "Malc does say you're the man for building things," she murmured, attention returned to the grill by a sudden hiss of superheated fat. "Would you mind grabbing the orange juice? Or there's grapefruit if you'd prefer. I can do some coffee too..."

"Mal's converting me to tea in the morning." Usually taken in bed and lapped from the Englishman's succulent, post-kiss lips. The memory spiked his balls and for a moment his grip on the juice carton slackened. 

If she noticed, Maddie was too refined to comment. "I dare say he's got a full itinerary drawn up for the week," she volunteered. Trip snorted.

His hostess didn't flinch. "Apparently we're going to the Tower today," he said, adjusting his stance to imitate one she knew very well. " _The best place to start filling the lamentable gaps in my redneck historical education_ , he called it."

"Will you need a notepad in case there are questions tonight?" Though she tried to purse her lips Maddie's high, girlish giggle still escaped. Trip shrugged.

"Think I'll need it?" he challenged, shifting on the balls of his feet to adopt a more relaxed, cockier stance. Her ponytail bounced an affirmative.

"When Malcolm starts rattling off dates, definitely," she said, one eye on the frosted glass door leading through to the living room. "The only thing he and my father have ever shared is a pedantic love of history, but even then Dad just remembers the dates of Nelson's victories. He never understood Malc reading up on Agincourt or the Battle of Britain."

With a sinking heart Trip watched her personalised Reed plating come online, blanking the brightness of her eyes. "You do rather make people _babble on_ don't you, Commander," she trilled, fumbling the gathering of rashers onto spatula in her confusion. 

"I'm glad it's not just me he has that effect on, Sis." Supremely attuned to his surroundings Malcolm identified the cause of her likely distress - and Trip's very charming embarrassment, he couldn't help thinking - from the doorway, and he moved with a cheetah's swift grace to overcome it. "I'm glad you didn't hear me burbling away on a damaged shuttlepod on one _particularly_ notorious occasion, but it was entirely his fault. There's something about Trip that just drags the words out of one."

"Is that a bad thing, Mister Reed?"

_Dammit they're British! Don't flirt with him in front of his sister!_

"For your eardrums on that occasion, Mister Tucker, undoubtedly." Watching Maddie fidget, visibly itching to damn diplomacy and ask allowed Malcolm to unbend, dividing a sparkling smile between the two people dearest to him. "But you're quite safe, Mad - he's the soul of discretion, despite being the owner of Starfleet's first warp 8 gob."

"Hey!" The tension in the room broke with a resounding snap as Madeleine was startled into a laugh. "My momma raised me to be a gentleman, and I'll thank you both to remember that!"

"We will, love." Half an eye on Maddie's quizzical expression Malcolm took the two steps required to plant a kiss on his boyfriend's enticing upturned lips. "Ready to play tourist?"

"Not without a picnic, you're not," Miss Reed objected, a peremptory hand already lifted against her brother's inevitable protest. " _You_ know what the prices are like in the tourist traps, Malc, and I've stocked up the cupboards especially. Help yourselves - and I've baked that chocolate chip, marzipan and pear slab cake specially."

To Tucker's amazement his partner's face lit up and he threw himself across the room to hug his yelping sibling. "Maddie, you're a superstar! I want the recipe for Chef!"

"You're not going give it to him in the galley, are you?" Trip gnawed his bottom lip. Malcolm shrugged.

"Are you suggesting I couldn't have that bad-tempered hairy bastard on his arse before he could reach his favourite meat cleaver, Commander?" he crooned.

_Damn you, Reed, don't_ call _me that - not in_ that _voice!_

"Oooh, violence in my kitchen!" Maddie squealed, pretending to dive into an open cupboard. "You can take a chunk of the cake with your picnic, Malc: and help yourself to the strong cheddar, I only bought it for you."

When he kissed her on the cheek Tucker wondered with a pang why she looked more surprised than he was. "You're spoiling me, Madeleine," Malcolm murmured, gently taking the breakfast tray from her hands. "Come on - if Trip brings the teapot, I'll get the table set. You're out all day, yes?"

"I'll order pizza when I get home."

"Or better still, comm. when you're coming home and we'll have it waitin' for you."

Madeleine's objections were overridden by her brother and laughing, her empty hands thrown up, she gave a grudging concession only marginally qualified through Trip's whoop of delight. "Oh, all right - always assuming you're back from your infernal history lecture before me! Trip, would you pass the marmalade, please?"


	3. London: III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trip's getting the hang of the Reed siblings. He's about to get a lesson in family life, Reed-style, too.

"Hey, Maddie." They'd come a dozen star systems in four days, Trip congratulated himself when she didn't immediately stand on his sauntering through her front door, only grunted and continued diligently glossing her puckered lips. "Lookin' good! You got a hot date tonight?"

"Hardly! Dinner with the developer to celebrate signing the contract for that office block refurb I told you about." Madeleine swept her tongue around shimmering pink lips that parted into a wicked grin at the look on her big brother's face. "Malcolm, _do_ stop glaring at me; I've still got to do my mascara and my hand'll start shaking if you keep glowering."

"I'm not glowering."

"Yes you are. Trip, tell him."

"Whoa, leave me outta this." Both hands up Tucker backed toward the door, earning a hiss of exasperation from his boyfriend and a wink from their hostess. "That's the same look you give Johnny when he's planning to go visit an alien ship without a security detail."

"You see! Glowering!"

Already thinned lips tightened; nostrils flared another millimetre, and those stormy eyes couldn't narrow more without snapping shut. "And for much the same reason. He's fifty if he's a day!"

" _And_ he's bringing his wife along." Utterly serene, Madeleine stood and smoothed her chic black dress while leaning to peck her brother's cheek. " _Honestly_ Milky! You'd think I was about six!"

Tucker's jaw hit the polished wooden floor. "Uh, Maddie, did you just call him _Milky_?"

Malcolm's scowl deepened. "Oops," Miss Reed observed. "I only usually do that when we're alone. Sorry, Malc."

"I'll take that as a compliment, right?" Trip suggested. Two pairs of shoulders sagged.

"When I was tiny I couldn't say Malcolm; the closest I could get was Milky," Madeleine explained, absently flipping her vanity mirror from left hand to right and back. "Mum thought it was quite sweet, but Dad was _mortified_ : I got tapped on the nose every time I did it in public, and then Mum used to go crimson and try to correct me in that awful, pained little voice - do you remember, Malc?"

"As if I could forget. It always put Dad in a foul mood."

Maddie shrugged. "So did days of the week with a Y in them. Anyway, under _intensive_ training I eventually got to _Malky_ \- hence Malc when we meet nowadays. You don't mind that, do you?"

"Not in the least." Seeing the real alarm chill her eyes Reed stooped to kiss her, laughing as he was swatted away with a shriek about _minding the hairdo_. "Very sophisticated, by the way," he added approvingly as he presented the waiting black cashmere coat to her. "Taking you somewhere posh, are they?"

"Lord knows, but the little black dress works everywhere." Her smile faltered, and for a moment the bare hint of a resemblance between the siblings sharpened. Maddie even got a shadow of a crease between her translucent brows.

"On the subject of clothes," she began cautiously. "You _did_ bring your posh togs, I assume?"

"Suit an' tie if they count." Reed was ominously quiet, nostrils just beginning to quiver again, so Tucker took the plunge for the both of them. "Why?"

"Oh, that'll be fine." She busied herself checking a small patent leather clutch bag with a discreet silver clasp, diverting her gaze to the oval mirror above the fireplace on the pretext of checking her immaculate chignon rather than to the face of her questioner. "I've booked you dinner somewhere nice, and I don't want you disgracing me."

Instantly summer-Pacific eyes narrowed to match wintry-Atlantic ones. "You didn't have t'..."

"I know, but I wanted to." Evidently satisfied he would be more reasonable than her brother Maddie focussed her attention on Trip. "I'm good friends with the maitre d' at the Savoy - did up his place in Little Venice as my last commission for Pinkertit-Prickface and he was so thrilled he's allowing me to use it as a show house for potential clients now."

"Pinkertit-Prickface?" Trip mouthed. Malcolm pursed his lips.

"He is, is he?"

"Oh for heaven's _sake_!" Madeleine smacked herself on the forehead in preference, Tucker suspected, to throttling his lover. "He's far more likely to be after your bum than mine, darling - Pinkerton-Parker (that's my old boss's so-called _real name_ by the way, Trip) only gave me the commission in the first place because Marco made a pass at him while they were discussing the refurb and he knew I'd be safer! 

"Now run along and get dolled up boys, your table's booked for seven-thirty, and don't make a _fuss_ : Marco's given us two three course meals for the price of one, but if you miss your slot, we're scuppered."

Trip was halfway to their room before he realised Malcolm was still fretting. "Did you tell him..."

"To expect my fusspot brother and his rather dishy American boyfriend." A rough shove set him in motion before Madeleine scooped up her bag and executed a textbook strategic retreat. "You've got your choice from the a la carte menu - personally, I'd recommend the salmon. 'Night!"

She was gone before either man could react. "Well," Malcolm growled, only the twinkle in his eyes betraying his amusement. "Since the minx has gone to so much trouble, we'd better hurry and get _dolled up_ , hadn't we? Bagsie first use of the bathroom!"

*

"I feel distinctly _shabby_."

Tucker hesitated before taking his seat, head cocked in consideration of the elegant figure opposite already smoothing out his napkin. "You don't look it," he promised, snatching his hand away from his waiting chair just in time for Marco the maitre d' to draw it back for him. Immaculate in a dark grey suit and understated burgundy striped tie his lover fit their plushly discreet surroundings perfectly: certainly better than Trip felt he did.

When Malcolm blushed his discomfort evaporated. Careless of Marco's highly unprofessional smirk, he reached around an elaborate centrepiece of white roses and captured the Englishman's hand. "You look amazin', Malcolm. I'm the proudest man in England to be seen with you."

"Right back at y', darlin'."

Trip's undignified snort resounded over the low purr of orchestral music that numbed conversation around the large room. "Just promise me never to do Phlox or Johnny in bed, alright?"

"Why would I do that when it's so much more fun to _do_ you? Oh, thank you - can we have the wine list as well, please?"

The staff, Trip noted with gratitude, matched the ambience of their workplace to perfection. Malcolm's filthy innuendo didn't raise so much as the tip of an eyebrow. 

He shifted the cloth napkin over his lap. _Well, not with the waiter, anyway._

*

"We've gotta thank Maddie," he announced three hours later, letting Malcolm bundle him into the back of a waiting cab and tip the concierge on their behalf. "And then send Chef here for retraining next time we hit spacedock. Even Momma's pan fried catfish don't taste that good."

"I won't tell her you said that." Light-headed from the rush of fresh air after hours cocooned in the restaurant and, Malcolm conceded inwardly, a little too much wine consumed, he snuggled into his lover's side and let his heavy eyelids droop. "It was rather nice, though. Mad's been spoiling us."

"Guess it's her way of saying, glad to have you home." Trip's lips twitched uncontrollably. "Milky. Ow!"

"I feel like a five-year-old when anyone calls me that."

"You look like one when you pout." It was surprisingly cute, in a psychologically disturbing kind of way. "Your Dad really got het up about it?"

"Horrendously, which upset Mad and probably made her pronunciation worse. It got so bad she wouldn't even speak outside the house. Old bastard. Head so far up his own backside..."

The cabbie's head twitched. "Sorry," Reed muttered. Tucker draped a long arm around his shoulders and squeezed hard.

"'s okay. I shouldn't have asked. What've you got planned for tomorrow?"

"Nothing much." The nip of the lower lip was so quick Trip might have missed it. "I've rather dictated the pace so far, and I thought - well, is there anything you'd like to do?"

"Can we go see Hampton Court?"

The younger man did an uncontrolled double-take. "Of course, if you'd like, but..."

"Lizzie did a college trip to England and said it was her favourite stop."

He didn't have to say more - just as well, Trip considered, since his throat closed up alarmingly on her name. Malcolm squeezed his knee.

"I'm sure Maddie's provisions will stretch to once more picnic. Next on the right, halfway down."

From the front of the vehicle came a grunt that made Malcolm smirk. "I think I've just slighted his professional competence," he whispered. The cabbie's head jerked. "Oops!"

Encouraged by his lover's high spirits Trip tipped the tight-lipped driver exuberantly and dragged an unresisting Malcolm into a passionate clinch on the doorstep, sweeping up the mingled tastes of orange sauce and chocolate from the depths of that tantalising mouth. "Bed?" he rumbled, letting himself be tugged off-balance into the lift.

Beautifully swollen lips curved upward. "Yes please. Oh bollocks, she's home before us!"

"Shit."

Malcolm quirked a brow. "Anti-social, Mr Tucker?"

"Must be contagious. Evenin', Maddie. You have a good time?"

"Oh, it was all right." Sitting on the floor surrounded by documents spewing from a small red overnight case, Madeleine spared an abstracted smile that widened as she took in her brother's flushed face and dishevelled hair. "Bugger wants to see my certificates now - bit late with the contracts already signed if you ask me. I think his wife was miffed to find that the _M.E.A. Reed_ hubby's been raving about - her words - has tits. Sorry, didn't mean to be crude."

"Hey, we've heard worse." A glossy colour print in the middle of the floor caught his eye: four figures on the grey, menacing deck of a warship. Without pausing to ask permission, Trip scooped it up. 

He supposed for a military family it might constitute a standard trip to the office: Dad wore a uniform gleaming with gold trim, Mom a floral cotton dress with a woollen cardigan, the children their Sunday best. Yet the frozen image chilled him because not one member of the quartet was even trying to smile for the camera. He chewed his lower lip, scanning the youngsters' faces for any sign of animation, excitement...

And saw the professional blandness of Senior Tactical Officer Reed staring back from the softened features of a Malcolm aged, at a guess, around ten.

"Stuart, Malcolm, self and Madeleine, HMS Lancaster," he read from the scratchy inked inscription across the bottom. "Your dad's ship?"

"His last command." Maddie had the look too, and it shut down her pretty face even more completely than her brother's. "We were taken aboard the day before her decommissioning ceremony - remember, Malc?"

Thin lips twisted. "Unfortunately. I suppose we should've sensed something was up, considering he'd never even let us onto the quayside to wave him home before."

"Malcolm, we were ten and seven!"

"And you were real cute kids, both of y'."

His determined effort to lift the lowering gloom failed miserably. Trip cleared his throat, relaxing his fingers against the urge to crush the obviously painful memory in his hands. "Oh, yes, thank you," Madeleine stuttered, her gaze still riveted on the print. "We couldn't have known, Malc. With him being so proud, I'd be surprised if he even told Mum until his written orders came through."

Malcolm grunted, letting himself tumble onto the one large couch, and at the crook of a finger Trip followed him down. Maddie drew her knees up to her chin, carelessly stuffing her most recent handful of papers back into their case.

"He expected a carrier, you know," she said, as blank as the silence that met her words. "Aunt Cherie blurted it one New Year's Eve after hitting the cherry brandy even harder than usual: said it was unfair he'd taken his _professional disappointment_ out on her poor sister, who never wanted to be a diplomat's wife any more than he wanted to be a diplomat."

"I wouldn't take Aunt Cherie's word - even when she's sober - as gospel," Reed pointed out, folding the long hands in his lap. Madeleine snorted.

"Neither would I, darling, but Dad stalked out of the lounge puce in the face and muttering he'd damn well deserved the _Prince of Wales_ , unlike that imbecile Roberts who was barely out of nappies and couldn't tack a destroyer in the middle of the Pacific without hitting something."

While Trip gawked and her brother grinned, Miss Reed tugged her hair free and swung it like a short, shimmering shield across her face. "Then, of course, Aunt Jane made things worse by peeping up over her crocheting to ask if that was the _Admiral_ Roberts she'd been reading about in _The Times_ the other day. Sometimes I think there's a conspiracy between the two of them to make poor Mum a widow: there was certainly a moment I feared for Pop's heart."

Malcolm shook his head, speechless for longer than Trip had ever seen before. "I knew he always resented being kicked onto the beach, of course," he marvelled, his untwisted fingers wandering unnoticed to fondle his neighbour's knee. "But I never thought... good God, there were only two carriers in the whole fleet then!"

"And Ark Royal's the flagship so even _he_ couldn't have envisaged commanding her." With the chignon dealt with Maddie's strappy high-heeled sandals were next to go, kicked vigorously across the room. "Rather sheds a different light on his foul mood that day, doesn't it?"

"It would, if his temper had been sweeter beforehand," Malcolm objected, shrivelling into his corner of the couch. "But you're right - he was in a stinker that day. I thought it was my fault."

"You spent most of your childhood thinking his strops were your fault."

"And you didn't?"

Maddie pouted. "Well, my dress was usually too creased - or too short when I got into my teens - and my voice was too high, and of course, I didn't hold my head up like a lady should. I got my hand smacked on Lancaster's bridge for _hanging your head like a beaten puppy again, Madeleine_ , I think. Then I was sick on the journey home."

"I remember that part, since you projected all over me," Malcolm replied drily. His gaze landed on the photograph again before his eyes flicked away as if the momentary contact burned. "I had a bit of an epiphany that day, I think. I'm not sure I've ever really rationalised it."

"What happened?" Even as he asked the question, Trip wasn't sure he wanted the answer. Reed's deceptively narrow shoulders lifted.

"We were being dragged through an honour guard on the main deck, all drawn up to see their captain disembark," he murmured. "D' you remember, Mad? Pipes shrilling, officers in their finery saluting, the ensign fluttering away and all that gold braid glinting in the sun... I was so proud to think it was all in honour of my Daddy. Then he sort of half-turned and sniffed at me. _Shoulders back, boy! An officer never slouches!_ "

"Sounds like that happened a lot," Tucker observed, trying hard to sound unruffled. His lover managed a tight smile.

"One of the sailors obviously overheard," he continued, so softly they had to lean in to hear. "As I looked away, I saw him - a stocky little fellow from Liverpool, Jackson I think his name was - stick out his tongue and give the old _reverse-victory_ salute to Dad's back."

Maddie guffawed. Malcolm frowned at her.

"It was the first time I ever admitted to myself I actually didn't _like_ Dad very much," he admitted, every syllable dragged out of him as if it hurt. "And that other people felt the same way. I'd heard him drone on so many times about discipline and respect I suppose I'd assumed everybody idolised him."

"Like you did," Trip whispered.

His answer was a jerk of the head. "It's a miracle I wasn't the one sick on the way home, really," Reed admitted, kneading at his lover's knee like a restless cat. "Because you're right of course - I thought Dad was a hero and to suddenly understand that I actually disliked him... other men were grinning at Jackson. I think his neighbour even slapped him on the back. It was as if the ship had been listing and suddenly righted herself - as if everything suddenly made _sense_."

"Poor you." Madeleine looked as stricken as Tucker felt, his heart aching for the scared and lonely child still audible in his lover's quiet voice. "I had a horrid time that day - that's why the photo was stuffed in my document case, not pasted into one of Mum's awful leather-bound albums, I suppose - but I must've stayed in my bubble. I don't remember anything of that!"

"Lucky you." As if he could feel his neighbour's distress Malcolm gave the leg he was holding a firm squeeze that jump-started Trip's anaesthetized limbs. He rocketed off the couch, dragging the smaller man's flaccid weight in his wake while faking the biggest yawn he could manage. "Um, you mind if we call it a night now, Mad?"

"Not at all." Her eyes. For the first time he realised they could be as expressive, when you really looked into them, as her brother's ever-changing grey-blues. 

And right now they were filled with compassion. "I'll just find this damned diploma, then toddle off myself, so hurry up with the bathroom," she trilled, catching his hand when Trip would have sped after his downcast partner. 

In place of the bland acceptance he'd willed himself to be grateful for he saw both understanding and approval as, head high, Madeleine whispered an urgent request. "Take care of him!"

"Always." The word snagged in his throat. Before she could see him tear up Trip turned and fled, more determined than ever to do just that. 

As long, he amended ruefully, at the unnecessarily loud clatter coming from their bedroom, as that cussed stubborn damn boyfriend of his was prepared to let him, anyway.


	4. Mississippi: I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Malcolm's turn to discover what made the man he loves.

"Oh honey, it's so good to see you!" Leanne Tucker's words were muffled against her elder son's chest as they hugged each other tight, and when the larger, broader version of Malcolm's lover looking on decided to get involved too, wrapping his arms around both from behind her, the Englishman quite feared for her survival. 

And for his partner's when Tucker Senior began to pound him on the back with what looked like a couple of meat plates. Trip had said his Daddy was a bigger version of himself - he'd just omitted to mention how _much_ bigger.

"Missed you too, Mom - Dad." Sentimental tears brought an ocean sheen to Trip's summery eyes as he stood back, pushing his dainty mother to arm's length for a better look. "You've lost weight."

Leanne preened, her rosy colour heightened with pride. "Y' see, Charlie, _somebody_ notices."

"Trip doesn't see y' every day, darlin'; that makes a difference. Just remember what you said about feedin' these boys up and getting some sun on their faces while they're here."

Even the broad, brow-creasing smile he adored came, Malcolm noted, with the family name. CT2 gave CT3 a final hefty clout between the shoulder blades then stepped back to turn a quizzical eye over his left shoulder. "And you're Malcolm. It's good to meet you at last, son."

"How do you do, Mr Tucker." He stopped himself saluting, Trip suspected, just in time to turn the move into an offer of a handshake. Charlie Tucker hesitated for a moment before accepting the proffered limb and using it to drag the startled Brit into an enthusiastic hug.

"Likewise, son, but unless you wanna be called _Lieutenant_ for the whole vacation, it's Charlie," he said firmly when he let a slightly crushed-looking armoury officer stagger back. To his credit, Malcolm managed a watery version of his usual half-smile.

"I _am_ rather used to that, sir," he murmured. Leanne Tucker produced a guffaw from deep inside her tiny frame that wouldn't have disgraced her much larger spouse. 

"Not from Trip or Johnny, I'm guessin'," she chortled, evading being knocked by a noisy group of teenagers with rucksacks with the dip of a chubby shoulder. Reassured by her son's minimal nod, Malcolm risked a sly sally in reply.

"Captain Archer and Commander Tucker do rather lack appreciation for the _military form,_ Ma'am," he drawled. His hostess sighed and batted her long lashes at him.

"Oh, what an accent - and honey you were right, the pictures just don't do him justice." As Malcolm stared, Leanne Tucker patted him kindly on the arm. "No, Malcolm, Charlie'll take your bags. We're parked right out front, and the rest of the family's fixin' dinner back at the house. We figured you'd need a little time before facin' them all, after the journey you've had."

"Mom, we've only come from London!" Tucker protested even as his shoulders sagged with relief. Leanne tutted.

"Sweetie, you know what your sisters can be like, and with the kids runnin' around as well we'd bring half the spaceport to a stop." With her husband gathering their meagre belongings Mrs Tucker steered the two officers out into blazing sunlight, shielding her eyes from the glare where it struck a line of hydrocar windscreens. "You boys'll jump in the back, yeah?"

"Thanks, Mom." The doors buzzed open and gently Trip shepherded his lover in, folding his longer frame in behind. "Y' okay like that, Mal? Dad has the seat back as far as it'll go..."

Thin lips disappeared between sharp white teeth despite the Englishman's nod of reassurance. "Pictures?" he breathed.

"Trip always sends photos with his letters home." Leanne cast a smile over her shoulder while fastening her seatbelt, thus proving Vulcan females weren't the only ones with hyper-sensitive ears. "And a lot of them over the years have been of you."

"Really?"

Difficult, Reed considered, to judge which of them was most surprised. With the vehicle moving noiselessly through traffic the elder couple up front shared a knowing smile. "Really," Charlie Tucker affirmed. "Figure that's how your Momma knew how you felt about Malcolm here long before y' actually got around to admittin' it, son."

"Now Charlie, I knew how the boy felt before _he_ did, an' don't you forget it. Is that the Morrisons?"

Instantly her husband steered his smart metallic green vehicle off the main road. "If it was, just hope they didn't see us," he grunted. Trip coughed.

"That'd be the guy you play golf with?" he asked. Mrs Tucker's pretty, even features scrunched.

"The most borin' creature Almighty God ever put on His green Earth - 'cept his wife, 'f course," she grumbled, Charlie chuckled.

"They're both dyin' to meet our famous son," he announced, spoiling his attempt at seriousness with a comic roll of the eyes at them via the rear view mirror. "Relax! We told 'em you'd be comin' _next_ week."

"And when they come snoopin' around, we're gonna tell 'em your plans had to be changed," his wife concluded triumphantly. "Malcolm, it's gonna take us a little longer to get home going this way, but it's prettier. You ever been to Mississippi before?"

"Er, no." Small-talk. A Vulcan could do it better. "How do you find it here? Trip tells me it's quite different from Florida."

"The folks are real friendly, and we got more land than we used to have," Charlie announced, all the usual humour melting from his expression as he stared at them via the mirror. "It was real good of you to go with Trip after the attack, Malcolm. I hope he told y' how much we appreciated that."

Aware of the colour pinking the base of his lover's throat, Reed hedged. "We didn't have much time to exchange pleasantries with everything going on, but I'm sure..."

"I was behavin' like a jerk, so probably not," Trip interrupted, too loudly. His mother huffed.

"At least you're man enough to admit it," she muttered, the truculent tone altogether too familiar to her family's guest. "Foolin' around with that Vulcan... I can't believe even a Tucker could be that dumb!"

"Am I allowed t' object to that?" Mr Tucker enquired politely. His wife tsked.

"No, you're not. C'mon honey, you're not choking - Malcolm, smack him on the back for me. Did you think your Momma didn't realise you were gettin' yourself all mixed up with her when you kept mentioning how much T'Pol was helpin' in your letters home?"

"I did?"

The back of the seat before him creaked as its occupant nodded, strands of her blonde ponytail whipping around the headrest. "Sure did. But you know somethin'? Even the picture you sent when y' almost admitted to having somethin' goin' on with her, you know what you said? _That's T'Pol, Mom, sittin' between Johnny and Malcolm_."

"What's wrong with that?" her son protested. Reed cleared his throat.

"As Commander T'Pol _is_ the only Vulcan aboard," he murmured with a diffident dip of the head. Tucker bit his lip.

"Yeah. Guess the pointed ears'd give her away."

"And we'd seen pictures of her before; and we've known Johnny Archer for more'n ten years," Leanne added firmly. "But no - you had to get Malcolm's name in there, same as in every letter you've sent since launchin'. _Hey Mom, Johnny, T'Pol and I explored this cool uninhabited planet with red and purple trees today, an' did I mention I worked out with Malcolm last week?_ And that, before anybody asks, is a direct quote."

When his lover nipped at his full bottom lip, eyes narrowing with concentration, it was all Malcolm could do to keep his hands to himself. Carefully folding them in his lap, he blurted out the first thing that came into his head.

"That was during our first year!"

"Y' see!" Mrs Tucker craned around the headrest to beam at them, hands clasped in a girlish gesture at her throat. "I knew right back then you were in love with him, honey, and don't you start squealin'. I'm your mother, and moms just _know_. Betcha Malcolm's 'd say the same!"

Not even Tucker sanguinity could protect his parents from the chill Trip felt emanating from his neighbour. "I haven't spoken to my parents for several years, Mrs Tucker," Reed rapped, the fingers in his lap clenched hard enough to turn white. 

In the car's mirror the eyes of Charles Tuckers II and III snagged and held for a pained moment before the younger sucked in his breath and risked draping an arm around his lover's tight shoulders. 

When he felt them relax a smidge he almost whooped for joy. "Trip told us your daddy didn't approve of you joinin' Starfleet," Leanne stammered, her seat creaking with every small fidget. "I guess your Momma feels..."

"In the shuttle that time, you said you'd written them," Trip cut in as her embarrassed half-apology petered out. Malcolm shrugged.

"D' you remember Captain Archer presenting me with the first of my pineapple birthday cakes?" he asked. 

"Course I do." The memory had the power to make Tucker smile despite the waves of awkwardness washing out from the front seats. "Heck, I'm not likely to forget it, seein' as how it was the first time I saw you off-guard!" 

"He mentioned that he'd spoken to my parents - and that Mum told him I hadn't been in touch since boarding Enterprise."

"He also told me you'd called them to say you'd been posted to her," Trip pointed out. The slim shoulders beneath his arm heaved.

"At a time when I knew they'd be out, to spare any distressing _scenes_."

Three devoted family members were, he gathered, holding their breath waiting for him to continue. Ignoring the squelch in his gut, Malcolm obliged. 

"In my ignorance, I assumed her mentioning it to the Captain meant a letter would be welcomed, so I sent one. And when that didn't get a response, I sent another."

His attempt at a sardonic laugh sounded strangled to his own ears. "I'm not usually that slow on the uptake."

"Oh, honey!" Taking advantage of their halt on the edge of town Leanne unclipped her belts and lunged into the back to snatch the hands lying limp between his knees. "I'm sorry! That must've hurt."

"I ought to be used to it, Mrs Tucker, but - yes, I suppose it did."

That, Malcolm acknowledged, was a truth he barely admitted to himself: to be letting a virtual stranger into his deepest soul was as much out of character as Captain Stuart Reed R.N. taking an interest in something that didn't float. "And Trip gets it from you, obviously," he murmured. 

The bright eyes fixed on his solemn face widened. "The ability to make a miserable recluse spill his guts at a moment's notice," he clarified. 

"Y' ain't miserable, son: I've read enough 'f Trip's letters about you to know that." Charlie Tucker too leaned around the corner of the backrest to stare with big, oh-so-readable blue eyes at his pale face, and though he willed it back Malcolm could feel the hot climb of embarrassment under their overt sympathy up the sides of his neck. "And I had enough fights with m' own daddy to know how rough it makes y' feel."

"You and Grandpa?" Trip erupted. "I thought you got along fine!"

"By the time you were born - yeah, we did, but when I was younger..."

"Your Daddy married a Johnson, honey." Her elbow flicking out to return her husband's attention to the road, Leanne Johnson Tucker eased back into her seat with a resigned sigh. " _Wrong side 'f the tracks_ , folks used to say, Malcolm. The Tuckers owned their farm, my folks worked another man's land. We got used t' each other over time, but after Charlie proposed... his Daddy didn't speak to him for three months."

"I never knew that!"

His father's massive shoulders rolled visibly against his seat as their vehicle hummed into life, easing them out into wide open country: green and amber fields that stretched, so far as Malcolm could tell, into infinity. "There was never any reason for you to know. Daddy came 'round, and your Granny loved Leanne right off. I guess you must feel that's never gonna happen with your dad, Malcolm."

"It seems unlikely, sir."

The formality was allowed to pass, the small kindness in granting it alone enough to tighten his throat and earn these compassionate people his unstinting trust. 

Blindly he sought Trip's hand with his own, pulling the unresisting limb into his lap as he settled back in his seat and turned his formidable powers of concentration to the passing landscape. 

He should have known the son of such a close and happy family would be imbued with all his parents' best traits. And if he loved Trip Tucker - which, Malcolm accepted, he had for too many years - it shouldn't need the logic of a Vulcan to work out that he'd take to the man's family, too.

What he hadn't expected was that those parents, warm-hearted and open as their son himself, would show the same intuitive understanding of such a different and (he admitted it freely) difficult man as him.

The hand in his turned, long fingers gently squeezing his. "Y' okay there, darlin'?" Trip rumbled. 

He gave himself time instead of merely parroting his standard response. "I'm fine, love."

And he was. For once in his life, in a strange place with people he barely knew, Malcolm Reed really, honestly was. Just fine.


	5. Mississippi: II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The whole Tucker clan's assembled, and that's going to bring awkward moments for both Malcolm and Trip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers: 4.20 “Demons”, 4.21 “Terra Prime”

"We've given you boys the annexe," Mr Tucker announced as they pulled up before his large white-painted two-storey farmhouse - the only property, so far as Reed could see, in an area the size of the average English county. "It's pretty basic, but you got your own lounge and kitchen, and the door from the main house can be locked on your side. Figured Malcolm might need a break now an' then."

"I'm sure that won't be necessary, Mr Tucker," Malcolm protested over Trip's murmured thanks. The wooden double doors of the main house burst open before he could exit the car, spilling out what sounded like an entire army of blond, boisterous, Tuckers over the broad porch and down its shallow flight of well-worn steps.

Immediately, he changed his mind. A lockable door looked like a very good idea.

"Trip, honey we thought you'd gotten lost! Tommy Jones, you get off that wet grass, you've got nothin' on your feet!"

"Uncle Trip, we got catfish an' pecan pie 'specially for y'!"

"Hey, bro, good t' see you lookin' well. You'd better be ready to give your sister-in-law a hug since y' couldn't make the wedding!"

The voices rose and surged together like clashing waves in a storm and briefly Malcolm staggered under their weight, the babble of so many rich Southern drawls mingling until even the UT would have struggled to identify basic elements of the English language. 

His lover hollered back good-humouredly as he was yelled at and back-slapped whilst being simultaneously assaulted around the kneecaps by a small storm that Malcolm was gradually able to separate into five individual children with hands that alternately tugged their uncle's trouser legs and swatted away at their neighbours. "Sue, Becky, you wanna call 'em off?" Trip yelled at the two Leanne Tucker lookalikes leaning on the porch rail. The taller, visibly swelling with yet more snub-nosed progeny, put two fingers into her mouth and gave vent to a piercing whistle.

Instantly the pack around Trip's kneecaps fell back. "Nice work, Susie," he approved. 

A long arm wrapped around the blonde's waist. "Being the oldest of five sure comes in handy," said a treacly male voice. Trip tipped back his head, meeting the warm brown eyes of the speaker with a grin. 

"Hey, Josh. You gonna be able to cope with another two Tucker women bullyin' you in your own home?"

"Remember where my elbow is if you're hoping t' get a son someday, Joshua Robbins!"

"You got your Mom's knack for crowd control, Sue." With a theatrical cough Charlie Tucker moved through the throng, immediately drawing the attention of his four offspring the same way. "Kids, you jus' step back and let your Uncle Trip an' Malcolm into the house, okay? Malcolm, this here's my oldest, Susie and her husband Josh - that's their girl Dianna swingin' off Trip's arm. Then there's Becky and Brad - the other kids're all theirs: that's Tommy, Sarah and Jack in order 'f appearance; Trip's the next, then there's Robbie here and the newest Tucker... you met Nicole, son, last time you came home, right?"

"And I'm real sorry I had to miss the weddin'." Every eye had been turned to the small figure at his side and Trip could almost feel the man shrivelling. "Jackie, that's a real nice mud pile you're building, but you wanna leave it to dry? Folks, this is Malcolm - my partner."

"Hallelujah!" Rebecca Tucker Jones surged down the steps with arms outstretched and both men grunted, caught off-balance as she pulled them both to her ample bosom. "We've heard so much about y', Malcolm! Jack Jones, take your filthy paws off the poor man's knee!"

Instantly the toddler clawing his way up the Englishman's leg let go and stumbled backward into his fresh mud pie, letting loose the bellow of a wounded Klingon as he fell. "Tommy, pick your lil' brother up and come shake Mister Reed's hand," his mother commanded. "Brad, you got the wipes?"

"Never without 'em. " Her husband, equally stocky with light brown hair and eyes a pale, spring-sky blue two shades lighter than those of his in-laws, stepped forward, pulling a handful of damp cloths from his pocket. "Pleased to meet y', Malcolm. You wanna scrub the dirt off your knees?"

"Er - thank you, yes." Unsure quite what else to do he flicked the damp tissue offered against his leg while the Tucker flood broke over him. 

Trip's younger brother pounded him on the shoulder while loudly introducing his wife of eight months; Susie kissed him soundly the moment she'd put his lover down, shrilly exclaiming over his _wonderful bone structure_ and rubbing her fingers over his cheekbones until he hoped the high colour staining his whole face could be attributed entirely to her efforts. 

"Sue's a beautician," Josh Robbins explained in a stage whisper that cut right through the younger generation's excited piping. "Put the poor guy down, woman, can't y' see when you're embarrassing him?"

"I'm sorry." The apology was accompanied by another kiss: briefly, Reed wondered if he had ever been so much manhandled in a single day. "Trip's been talkin' about you for so long, I thought we were _never_ gonna get the chance to say hello. Dianna Jean Robbins, stop throwin' your skirt up, folks don't wanna see your butt in the air! She's three years old goin' on thirteen, that child."

"Goin' on fifty most 'f the time." Looking barely older than her daughters, Leanne Tucker scooped her smaller granddaughter onto her shoulder, blithely ignoring the chubby hand that attached itself to her hair. "Now if you've all managed to paw poor Malcolm, maybe we should let him and Trip take their stuff through to the annexe? We'll be in the lounge when you're ready, boys - and do you want tea or coffee, Malcolm honey? I'm makin' both, so if you're one 'f those _proper_ Englishmen who prefers his tea in the afternoons..."

"I'm afraid I am, Leanne - if it's really no bother?"

"None at all, you're family now." With a last pat of his shoulder the Tucker matriarch shepherded her flock up into the main house, leaving the two Starfleet officers standing alone by the car, rucksacks at their feet. "So if you're not back in ten minutes, I'll come lookin'!"

"C'n we play hide and seek, Grandma?"

"Be quiet, Tommy, we're gonna sit and talk nicely t' Uncle Trip and his friend."

The front doors swung shut on Tommy Jones's indignant squawk. Trip expelled a noisy breath.

"Sorry," he said, picking up both bags while Malcolm stood frozen, the wipe Brad had offered flapping uselessly in his hand. "They can be a tad overwhelmin' - Susie most of all."

"They're all very kind, love." The Tucker siblings might have been sketched as a diametric opposite to his own sister, Reed mused, giving himself a visible shake under the other man's brow-creased stare. "And I never thought I'd be saying this but - you seem to be the quiet one of the family."

"That's what Starfleet trainin' does to a guy." It had mellowed his accent too, something Trip only realised when confronted with the full-blooded drawls of his nearest kin. "The front door's open. You wanna take your bag?"

"Of course. Sorry." He fumbled the rucksack's strap and blushed, irritated by his lack of control. "After you."

Tucker studied him carefully for a long moment then shrugged, flashing his wide-open, life-affirming grin. The instant they were safely inside the single-storey building, before Reed had time to take in more than the airiness of the modern, uncluttered lounge, he dragged the brunet into his arms, blotting out the echoing noise still clanging through Malcolm's skull with a deep, drugging kiss.

"Calmer now?" he asked huskily when the urgent need for oxygen forced them apart. "Mom wasn't kidding - we got time to freshen up, but after that..."

"I'm fine." 

The familiar phrase won him a roll of the eyes as he was pushed through a wide, open arch into the single spacious bedroom, its main feature covered by a rich-looking purple throw. "Bathroom's off to the right; I'll unpack while you're in there, okay?"

*

_Where are the bleedin' Suliban when you need them?_

The thought was, Malcolm conceded, ungenerous: and unlike Silik's squads, Tucker interrogators kept their hands firmly to themselves. It was simply a kink in his nature that he preferred a physical hammering to the incessant, eager questions of too many strangers about every tiny aspect of his first thirty-two years.

Dinner, he allowed, hadn't been too bad, with every sibling competing to fill his lover in on the latest details of their lives and their excitable progeny keeping up a shrill descant to adult conversation. It was once the younger generation had been despatched that the grilling really began.

Coffee cup in hand, Charlie had guided the family into a gigantic, attractively cluttered lounge area lit by elegant free-standing lamps in every corner. Settling Trip and Malcolm on a pine-framed love-seat beside the fire (the place of honour, Reed gathered) he had lit the log-burner and flopped into a large armchair facing them while the rest of the party accommodated themselves on couches, chairs and padded stools. "So then, guys: you have a good time in London?"

Such an innocuous start to a cross-examination. Even the most suspicious man in Starfleet had been wrong-footed. "Thank you, yes. Madeleine quite pushed the boat out for us, didn't she?"

"That's your sister, right?" Becky had cut in. "She older or younger than you?"

"Three years younger." The words had been out before he could consider their implications.

He'd have to keep the tactic in mind. Yelling in a captive's face certainly never had this much effect - at least when Reed, Lieutenant M, was the captive in question.

From the age difference had flowed enquiries about Maddie - her white-blonde hair caused much comment in a family of brunets - her middle names, the apartment she'd bought last year and the area of London she lived in.

From his sister the cross-examination moved relentlessly onto more distant relations, and not for the first time Malcolm was grateful for a mere two spinster aunts on his mother's side and nothing closer than an elderly grandmother and a childless aunt-by-marriage on his father's. The questions came from every angle, increasingly personal, and utterly devoid of anything resembling tact.

"Trip said Madeleine's runnin' her own business." Even slight, dark-haired Nicole, herself still seemingly shy in the mayhem of Tucker free-for-alls, joined in, her soft voice soothing amid the clashing timbres of her louder in-laws. "What does she do?"

"Oh, she's an interior designer." 

"And a real good one, havin' seen what she's done with her place." Warm fingers wrapped around his wrist, subtly massaging the tender flesh. Trip switched their cups and Malcolm glugged the last few mouthfuls of his partner's coffee with relief, swirling the dark liquid around his dry throat. "Heck, she was seeing clients every day we were there, and she only went solo a couple 'f months back."

"Does she see your Mom an' Dad much?" 

Trip risked a scowl. Susie pouted at him. Malcolm managed a grin that, to his surprise, didn't actually damage his jaw.

"It's all right - that's the level of Tucker subtlety I'm used to," he drawled, pleased that his guess was on the money and the whole family laughed. "Our parents moved back to Malaysia a few years ago. Madeleine's in fairly regular contact by comm., but she's far too independent-minded for regular visits."

" _Back_ t' Malaysia?" Robbie echoed.

"When Dad retired from active service he was sent out there as naval attaché to the embassy." The smile that came easily while discussing Maddie faded into a tight, slightly pained attempt. "It's one of the few pieces of solid ground he actually likes, so as soon as he was able to draw his pension they moved back."

"That's some change from England, I'm guessin'," Charlie observed. "Did you ever live out there?"

"For a short while - school holidays and so on." Every woman in the room gasped.

The eldest took responsibility for asking, in a tiny voice. "You went to _boardin' school_?"

"Yes."

He sensed they expected more, but had no idea what. "You enjoyed it, right?" his neighbour hinted.

"Once I'd settled in, I suppose I did."

Trip Tucker hadn't felt a silence this uncomfortable since Ambassador Soval's last _social call_ to the bridge at Jupiter Station. "Anybody want more coffee?â€ he asked brightly. Malcolm couldn't have got up any faster with one of his own torpedoes up his ass.

"I'll make it." 

Leanne Tucker, somehow, moved even faster. "If you'll jus' bring the cups out, sweetie, I'm on it," she trilled. "Trip, don't jus' sit there boy, give Malcolm a hand!"

"I see what y' mean about subtlety," Tucker muttered on the way into the red-tiled kitchen. Leanne swatted his arm. 

"We don't mean t' overwhelm you, Malcolm," she said kindly, leaving her son to refill the enormous kettle and swill the cups at an oversized sink. "Tuckers are jus' born curious. You're not offended?"

"Good Lord, no!" Horrified, he swung from the draining board, tea towel and wet mug slipping dangerously in shock-slack fingers. "I'm just - well, Trip can tell you, it's a Reed thing. We're not much good at small-talk."

"And Maddie's as shy talkin' about herself as Mal is." Professional assurance added centimetres to his boyfriend on duty: shorn of it, Tucker mused, the man looked almost childlike, especially when everything around him spiralled out of his comfort zone. "You gonna get 'em to ease off, Mom?"

"I'll do my best - if you'll let me get the baby pictures out," For a sweet woman, Leanne Tucker drove a hard bargain. To Malcolm's delight, Trip went scarlet.

"If it'll take the heat offa Malcolm, I can live with it," he conceded, ruffling his lover's hair. "Heck, it'll mean all the embarrassin' pictures 'f all five of us comin' out, so the others can't laugh..."

"You were adorable!" his mother exclaimed, her high voice carrying right around the ground floor. "Charlie! You get those albums out, you hear me? Malcolm honey, will you refill the sugar bowl, please? Susie, get those scans out of your bag, Trip's not seen his new nieces yet!"

For fifteen blissful minutes Malcolm found he only needed to coo or laugh on cue. It was more relaxing than an hour alone in Decon. 

It also had the advantage of his beloved's relations taking turns to bring that delicious rose tinge to Trip's light-gold skin, and where embarrassment tied a Reed's tongue in knots it had the opposite effect on a Tucker. Listening to his man's increasingly outrageous defence of himself in the face of a fifteenth shot of his bared infant backside made Malcolm laugh so hard his sides ached.

"You Mum's right, love - you were a beautiful baby," he choked at length, helplessly scrubbing the wetness from his cheeks. Leanne snorted.

"Y' see!" she exclaimed. "It's in the blood, all Tuckers are just adorable! Rob - Nicole - you're gonna give me more grandkids, yeah?"

"Mom, we've only just got married!"

"Almost a year, and still no sign 'f a baby," Becky howled from her husband's lap. "Malcolm, it's a family rule - there's gotta be a little Tucker on the way inside the first year 'f marriage, right, Dad?"

"Your Mom an' I were the first generation in a while to do the marryin' thang before startin' the baby," Charlie boomed back, studiously ignoring his wife's glare. "And don't you take Becky to heart, Malcolm - I know you boys've only been together a few weeks."

"But they'd have such _incredible_ children!" Susie cried as she thrust her prominent belly between her brothers and stooped to peer into the open album. "I realise it's not gonna happen while you're on Enterprise, but..."

"Easy, girl: we don't even know how Malcolm feels about kids," her husband pointed out, easing her back far enough to peek over her shoulder. Susie flicked her shoulder-length mane into his face.

"Garbage! You saw how Dianna climbed all over him, and Tommy's so exicted, havin' somebody who handles real guns to talk to. He's a natural, isn't he, Mom?"

"It's for Trip an' Malcolm to decide _when_ they're ready," Leanne informed her brood, her pretty features scrunching the way her elder son's had on tasting his first Tarkelian lettuce leaf. "But you're right, Sue - they're both so damn handsome anythin' made of _that_ DNA should be plain gorgeous! I hear these biolabs are fantastic, and,,,"

His guts went into spasm. Trip pushed himself up off Malcolm's shoulder, all the high colour from his face drained into his boots. "'scuse me," he grated over the clatter of album onto wooden floor. One hand clapped over his mouth, he bolted.

"Honey, what's..." 

Half the household tried to scramble up in a forest of waving arms. "Let me, Leanne."

The swirling mass subsided allowing him to rise, suddenly taller with the cloak of innate authority swathing his slight frame. "Is he okay, Malcolm? What did I say?" his hostess almost wailed. Reed twisted his face into what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

"Won't be a minute," he hedged, disappearing through the swing door into the lobby before anyone could stop him.

His lover had come to a halt on the porch, his left side illuminated by a ribbon of lamplight escaping between badly-closed blinds. Bent double over the balustrade Trip retched dryly, shudders running the length of his spine. He gave no sign of hearing the Englishman's quiet footfalls; didn't even respond when a splayed hand came down at the small of his back and began to move upward in soothing circles. "I'm sorry, love."

"'s alright." Of course it was. That's why he was trying to sick his guts up, coldness crawling out of his churning belly like a swarm of angry insects.

"No it's not." He felt the smaller body move up behind him and despite everything its weight on his back eased the blasting chill inside. Malcolm's hands linked against his heaving belly, his cheek settling between the blond's shoulder blades. "What Paxton did to you was monstrous. Of course the thought of letting anyone loose on your DNA again's going to give you the horrors. You wouldn't be human otherwise; and I wouldn't love you with everything I am."

The quiet pledge broke him. Letting his head drop Trip Tucker began to cry like he hadn't since the age of five, the grief, anger and shame he'd carried since holding his dying daughter in his arms flooding out in a bitter torrent of tears. 

He didn't resist when Malcolm eased him back off the railing, half-carrying his dead weight past the wide-open front doors to collapse on Leanne's solid porch swing, its floral patterned canopy shielding them from anyone who might twitch the blinds. Burying his sweaty face against the Englishman's chest he sobbed until there were no tears left and all he could do was lay trembling under his boyfriend's tender touch.

"'m sorry, Mal," he rasped eventually, too weakened by his outburst to lift his aching head. "Dunno why that happened."

Warm lips feathered through his hair. "Because it should've long ago," Reed told him simply. "And if it had, an innocuous remark about something we might never even have thought about wouldn't have hit you like a runaway starship."

The long body sprawled over him stiffened. "Never've thought of?" Tucker echoed rustily.

When that tear-swollen, anguished face lifted off his breast Malcolm could gladly have booted himself up the arse. "Unless you'd want to, obviously," he whispered, producing a crisp handkerchief when a sweaty hand worked itself out from between their stomachs. "I - I'm not sure what kind of parent I'd be, but someday, perhaps... when we're settled, if you felt ready..."

_When we're settled_. The enormity of meaning behind those three words dragged what little breath he'd regained from Trip's lungs. "Most biolabs are real good these days," he managed past the baseball lodged in his throat. Malcolm bit his lip.

"Phlox could probably recommend a reliable one."

"And they're used to handlin' pure human DNA."

"Gay couples have been reproducing that way for decades."

"And Susie's got a point. Any kid with you for a daddy's gonna be a looker."

"I think I can safely return the compliment, Mister Tucker." A faint but genuine smile unrolled over his man's level features. "Ready to go in?"

"Lemme go wash my face first." When he struggled upright and the shaft of light from inside caught his swollen and blotchy features Malcolm decided that was probably a good idea. "Wait for me?"

"Always, love."

"Aw, now you're settin' me off again!" The words were accompanied by a sheepish grin. "I - hell, what 'm I gonna tell them, Malcolm?"

Steady grey eyes held his frightened stare. "The truth?" the Englishman suggested, taking the hand offered to heave him upright while the swing creaked against his sudden movement. "You owe it to them - and to Elizabeth and, quite frankly, to yourself - to tell them everything."

"I guess." His fingers burned briefly under a crushing grip before Trip released them, squared up his shoulders and took a step away. "C'mon then, Mister Reed. No point washin' these tears away when there are gonna be more any minute! Mom, I'm sorry for losin' it like that, but..."

A sea of worried faces turned their way. Taking a deep breath Trip glanced down at his boyfriend, seeking reassurance in the man's quiet presence. "You know what you said about biolabs? Lemme tell y' what one of them did to me not so long ago..."


	6. Mississippi: III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tucker kindness can be overwhelming. Both the boys are really in need of a little quiet time...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fairly general Season 3 spoilers.

" _Get some sun on his face_ , she says." Grumpily Trip turned back from waving the overcrowded hydrocar down the front drive, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his chinos. " _Take him ridin', honey, he said he learned as a kid_ , she says. Momma, you've got a _lot_ to learn about Malcolm!"

Not that the idea of cantering across sunlit fields at his lover's side wasn't appealing: quite the reverse, and the countryside offered plenty enough secluded spots to pause in on the pretext of letting the horses graze. He just knew Mal hadn't ridden since his schooldays, and the prospect of displaying a less-than-perfect seat to his hosts scared him worse than the thought of a Romulan invasion fleet appearing over San Francisco.

Wearily he ambled off the main drive toward the annexe, its front door standing open. Still, with Susie and Rob both gone and Becky's kids clamouring to be spoiled in town by Granny, he had his partner all to himself for the first time in ten days. 

The clouds lifted from around his ears. Who needed a horse and open country if all he wanted was a ride? 

Heat coursed through his veins, dividing between his cock and his face. If Malcolm saw him blushing like some puritanical preacher at a crude internal witticism he'd laugh his ass off.

Trip was still shaking his head at his own idiocy when he passed out of sunlight into the shadow of the open lounge. Instantly, the furnace within damped down.

_Who in Hell is he talking to?_

"They couldn't have been kinder, but sometimes I do find the attention _overwhelming_ , Mad," Reed was saying, rocking the desk chair back as he dictated, his words flashing up bright on the computer's subdued screen. Tucker gnawed his full bottom lip, torn between good manners and curiosity to know what had really been going through his new man's handsome head. 

For the second time in as many minutes, he embarrassed himself. Swaying back beyond the doorframe he tilted his head and listened in.

Retribution came in the wistful note that entered the clipped British voice. "I suppose that's why normal people like Trip find us so bloody odd, Sis. Apparently it's quite common these days for families to take a friendly interest in each other, and for parents not to expect their children to bow, scrape and do as they're told if they want a modicum of respect."

The naked hurt in the words zinged through Trip like a Klingon disruptor and as usual when his brain froze up his instincts kicked in hard, sending him rocketing into the bungalow with as much clattering chaos as was humanly possible. "Hey there, Malcolm, you gonna come out and enjoy the sunshine with me?" he bellowed.

"Computer, delete last sentence and pause." When the Englishman swung round with a happy smile just from seeing him Trip felt his guilt double in weight for being so obviously unrecognised. "Sorry. Just writing to Maddie."

"Tell her I said hi." Malcolm ambled willingly into his open arms, rubbing his nose into the base of Trip's throat. "When you get back to it. C'mon outside with me, darlin'; Mom expects me to've shown you the rest of Daddy's land before she gets home."

"She's not going to give up until I get on a bloody horse, is she?"

The predictable grumble sounded amused, Trip realised, his eyes narrowed to slits as he pushed his partner to arms' length. "You gonna let her bully y', Mister Reed?"

"She does it so sweetly, Mister Tucker." Freeing himself with reluctance, Malcolm turned back to regard the glowing monitor as if it were an alien bomb. "Computer, resume. I'm going out to play now, Mads, so I'll finish and send this evening. Trip says hello."

"Hello!"

"Computer, save and end." The screen went obediently black and Malcolm spun on his heel, head automatically cocking as he peeped beneath lush lashes at his partner. "It's the hallmark of a shrewd tactician, the ability to recognise when you're outgunned, love. I've met Antali merchants less persistent than your mother, and _you_ know how long it took us to rescue T'Pol from them."

Trip's wide, natural grin seemed to flood the room with light. "I thought we rescued them from T'Pol!" he protested, his laugh merging with Malcolm's in remembering. "Hell, by the time she was done with them even _they_ were agreein' it was illogical to keep a dog's dick as a fertility token!"

"Especially as Vulcans mate for the purpose of procreation every seven years; and to indulge in sexual activity for any other reason is clearly irrational."

Even as the toneless words were dripping from his lips Reed knew they were a mistake. "Oh, fuck! I'm sorry, Trip, I didn't mean to stamp on any corns..."

"It's okay." His facial muscles creaked at first but when the smile formed, it slowly relaxed into something almost natural. With a quick lunge Trip had his lover back in a crushing hug, his own brief stab of remorse dissolved by the need to calm Malcolm's. "She wasn't thinkin' any clearer than the rest of us when it happened. Hell, the Expanse screwed with all our minds; and maybe the Vulcans aren't as superior as they like to think."

"Good luck getting them to admit it," was growled into his chest, but Malcolm didn't press. Trip puffed out glowing cheeks, wondering briefly if he'd even managed to almost embarrass himself - and people he cared about - more in a year than he had in the last fifteen minutes. "But it was still thoughtless of me to bring it up."

"It was damn thoughtless of me to _get_ it up with her in the first place."

Still-shadowed eyes caressed his face. "Very true. D' you mind going riding while there's nobody around to watch? I'd rather not..."

"Be seen makin' a fool of yourself?"

Malcolm, he noticed, managed to look affronted even when laughing. "I was _going_ to say, show everyone how long it's been since I clambered onto a horse: but I suppose it amounts to the same thing. If you're up for it..."

"Sure, Mal." Though his heart leapt at the unspoken corollary - that he was trusted to see Lieutenant Perfection out of his comfort zone - Tucker simply unleashed his lethal grin and headed for the door. "We got all afternoon 'til Mom gets back from shopping, so..."

"Sounds perfect." Relief that an act of rampant cowardice hadn't been called on made Reed's shoulders sag as he dropped into the taller man's wake, content on their walk around the main house and across the first paddock to a pleasantly shabby stable block to listen to Trip's enthusiastic description of every nag in the family yard. "I'll take a good, stolid old citizen, if it's all the same to you," he said mildly, pausing as they entered the stable yard to ensure nobody else was around. Trip let the paddock gate swing shut and stopped, head on one side as he considered the animals regarding them disinterestedly from their stalls.

"I'm takin' Jupiter - I was based at the station when Dad bought him." The tack room stood open, but none of the hands were loitering. Trip cast a thoughtful glance around all three wings of the building, his eye drawn by a medium-built grey nodding placidly in the corner. "How about you take Harvey over there? He's as laid-back as they come; and he's not so big you'll look like a pea on a drum either, Shorty."

" _Shorty_?" Only when outrage steamrollered anxiety did Reed appreciate his lover's pragmatic thoughtfulness. "I'll have you know, you great long streak of redneck piss, that _I_ am perfectly proportioned. It's not my fault certain people are just too bloody tall!"

"I got no complaints about your _proportions_ , darlin'." The pledge was accompanied by a definite leer that kept him chuckling on the way to meet his chosen mount.

His singsong voice carried easily into the tack room as Trip gathered their gear and by the time he emerged, weighed down with their tack the Englishman had led the grey from his stall and was being gently nosed. Harvey's bleach-blond tail swished contentedly; when Trip deposited the saddle on his back, he didn't even flick an ear. "I think he likes me."

"He's got taste." He gave the gelding's neck a pat. "Want a hand, or..."

Malcolm bristled. "I can manage, thank you."

Trip cackled. "Oooh, _hoity-toity_!"

"Piss off, Yank!" 

With a grunt the blond retreated, keeping Jupiter between them lest Malcolm see the silly grin plastered over his face. But he kept an eye on the Englishman as he saddled up, and when the furrow appeared between his sable brows, he was ready.

Quietly he slipped around the big bay's hindquarters and stooped, adjusting his companion's stirrup while Reed stood aside and scowled, colour cresting his cheekbones at such proof of his incompetence. Without a word Trip stepped back, dusted off his hands and returned to his own mount. 

He didn't offer a leg-up; just vaulted into the saddle and waited for the smaller man to heave himself aboard and gather the reins, giving Harvey a grateful tap in recognition of his nonchalance. "Ready?"

Malcolm shifted in the saddle. "As I'll ever be," he muttered. Trip bit his tongue. Hard.

He was trying to be undemonstrative - not easy for a Tucker - in his support. He wanted, more than anything, to be worthy of the trust Malcolm showed him.

He just wished the damned stubborn, obsessive-perfectionist little Limey pessimist didn't make both hands itch to throttle him on a regular basis.

*

Once they got into open country Malcolm seemed to relax, barely grunting at the suggestion of a trot then actually pushing ahead at a canter across flower-spangled meadows toward a rickety wooden bridge crossing the stream that wound like an endless silvery serpent across the Tucker lands. He even agreed to a gallop when Trip, ever impatient at sub-warp speeds, suggested it after two hours of idling along.

With a lock of hair drooping into his eyes and sticking to the perspiration that made his forehead glisten, and a glow to his wind-stung cheeks, he looked younger and more carefree than Trip had ever seen him. 

"And you got a real good seat, too," he added aloud. Malcolm snorted.

"Can't you keep your mind off my arse for five minutes, Mistah Tuckah?"

"Jus' be glad ah'm keeping mah hands off it, Mister Reed." Reining in at his side, Trip leaned down and patted the brunet's lower back, the closest he could get to those oh-so-enticing butt cheeks. "You feelin' better about riding now?"

"I suppose it's like riding a bicycle - or steering a boat." Malcolm's smile faded for a heartbeat before he pinned it firmly back in place. "You never really forget. I'm going to be stiff as hell by bedtime, mind."

For a few silent moments they regarded each other before a lightbulb popped inside Trip's head. "Guess I'll hafta give you a massage before turnin' in, then," he drawled before spurring Jupiter into an easy trot. This time, he didn't bother checking back to ensure Malcolm was following him.

"I guess you will," floated after him. Despite the heat of the afternoon sun, Trip felt himself shiver.

He didn't deserve this! Not after the pain he'd inflicted; not after T'Pol and the bond and all the crap he'd thrown Malcolm's way. Hanging his head, Trip allowed the younger man to canter ahead, already steering his horse toward a thick copse that backed onto the extensive Tucker garden. Suddenly, his perfect afternoon felt all wrong.

The Englishman slowed as he approached the trees, picking his way through the narrow tracks with the same caution Trip had seen on a dozen supposedly uninhabited planets - as if a huge hairy alien with a disruptor in each of his six hands was lurking behind the next rock. 

More than once he'd been right, but Tucker doubted there'd be any Ingosturis hiding out on his father's land. If there were, maybe he'd have some justification for tiptoeing his horse forward nervously as Lizzie, aged four, had approached her unlit room at bedtime.

The repetitive thump of Jupiter's hooves resounded off the old maple and magnolia trees, their splendid colours and the extravagant flowers that smothered them passing in a fragrant blur. His chest felt tight, his eyes much too hot. His surrounding began to blur.

All too clear in the murk was Malcolm's worried look when he reached the younger man, dismounted and leaning casually against a gnarled old Southern Magnolia in full bloom while Harvey lapped greedily from the winding stream. "Love, what's wrong?"

_So much for subtlety_ , Trip thought grimly. He swung out of the saddle, taking his time in loosely tying his mount alongside Reed's while he gathered what shreds of composure were within reach. Then he turned, looked into the troubled face of his lover, and they scattered to the winds once more.

"I'm jus' so sorry, Malcolm," he blurted, rocked back by a stab of pain through his gut when the smaller man reached out toward him. "Treatin' you like shit all that time - then that whole fuckin' mess with T'Pol. I must've hurt you so much... how can you forgive me all that?"

"I love you." He made it sound so easy, and to Malcolm's astonishment, it was. "And a lot of the time - although not with the T'Pol business, obviously - I did rather ask for it."

"Like hell you did!" Self-flagellation dissipated under a flare of outrage. "Jesus, Malcolm, there you were tryin' to be supportive and all I ever did was explode at y'! I know you were in love with me even then..."

"If I _hadn't_ been so hopelessly besotted I wouldn't have kept putting myself in the firing line." Irritation, bewilderment and remorse battled to contort his boyfriend's level, suntanned features and impulsively Malcolm cupped the tightened jaw in his hands, gently drawing Trip down for a chaste kiss. "You were like an overloading reactor, and if you'd blown up in the face of a subordinate you'd never have been able to forgive yourself."

"I know it's somethin' we mostly ignore, _Lieutenant_ , but technically you're a subordinate too."

"One who happened to be so desperately in love with you he'd let anything up to and including a physical assault pass without formal complaint to the _higher authorities_." Another quick kiss eased the sting before Malcolm backed off, hands falling loose at his sides as he studied the taller man. "You were going downhill so fast, and there was nothing constructive I could do... when I realised it was helping you to blow up at me with impunity, well - what's a man to do?"

"Toss me and my stinkin' bad temper out the nearest airlock?" Trip suggested, emotion making him hoarse. "I never realised - sonofabitch! That you'd put yourself through all that shit for me...

This, he guessed, was what Hoshi went through the first few times Enterprise took her past the familiar barrier of Warp 2: this rolling sensation through the stomach combined with blurring vision and a head full of cotton wool. "It must've killed y' to hear about me goin' with T'Pol!"

"More or less." He probably ought to have sugared the pill, but the admission was out before Malcolm's discretion could kick in. His shoulders sagging, he thrust both hands deep into his pockets and ducked his head, the self-assured lover suddenly a lonely little boy. "I mean, it's not as if I'd ever really believed I had a chance - you were the straightest man in Starfleet with all those alien birds falling at your feet - but I always knew you'd be coming back from _them_. When you started falling for her..."

"I didn't." He'd said it before - explained the whole mess as well as he could without fully understanding it for himself - but self-doubt ran deep beneath the hard carapace of Starfleet's finest armoury officer. Trip figured he'd be covering the same ground for the next fifty years. 

If he was lucky.

"I was messed up; she was messed up. I - you've just gotta trust me on this, Mal: it wouldn't have happened if either one of us had been thinkin' straight."

To his relief the Englishman didn't question; but neither did he stop nibbling his lower lip and looking anywhere but at his lover. Trip sighed.

"That fuckin' Expanse! It screwed us all, even the Vulcan Priestess, not that I knew it at the time. After Elizabeth's service she told me things... figure she thought I deserved to know the truth."

"A human would've worked that out ages ago."

In spite of the lead in his belly, that mutinous tone made Tucker smile. "All you need to know is that I never really loved her, Malcolm. Underneath it all the whole time I was wishin' you weren't so damn straight! I've been in love with you so long, darlin'; and I wasn't the only one puttin' on one hell of an act."

"Nobody ever bothered to ask, so I didn't tell." Thin lips twitched. "Unlike the Old Fart I _do_ realise we're not living in the twentieth century, but there are still certain expectations in my line of work."

"You mean like the one that says a security guy's gonna be eight-foot tall and built like a brick - umm, outbuilding."

Beneath the sweep of sable eyelashes he caught a glimmer of starlight mirth. "I won't faint if you say _shithouse_ , either."

"Only tryin' to be a gentleman. C'mere."

Trip didn't realise he had been holding his breath until the other man stepped into his open arms, nestling against him with a contented sigh. "Lucky you don't match that stereotype either," he murmured, rubbing his cheek against Malcolm's crown

"I could still have you on your arse in a nanosecond."

Tucker's chuckle rustled his hair. "Anytime you want, lover."

Reed raised his head. Without either man intending it their lips met in a sweet, healing kiss. 

"Oh, my," Malcolm murmured, the words ticklish against his partner's chin. His hands clasped at Trip's nape, gently guiding the taller man back down. "That was nice."

_More than nice_ , Trip amended hazily as they sank into the long grass on the copse's edge, Malcolm's weight pressing him down while they rolled deeper into the reed beds that fringed the stream. Mouths melded, the Brit caught his boyfriend's hands and pinned them with loving force above his head. 

He was floating. Arching up into his partner's languorous kiss Trip had forgotten the wider world. When a shrill voice sliced like a precision microdrill through his blissful trance he discovered it had not forgotten him.

"Uncle Trip, why're you an' Malcolm fightin'?"

Malcom shot up onto his knees, hands dropped involuntarily to shield the tenting of his pants. While Trip struggled, clutching the clinging undergrowth to drag himself off the deck, he brushed the hair back from his eyes and smiled into the wide blue eyes of the eldest Tucker grandchild.

"We're not fighting, Tommy," he stated with all the authority of Starfleet's finest. A full bottom lip was thrust out. "We're practising."

"That's one way 'f puttin' it," Trip growled. Malcolm ignored him.

"You know ™I'm head of security on Enterprise, don't you?"

The child eyed him with unnervingly adult scepticism. "Yeah."

"Well, that means I'm responsible for making sure every crewman can defend himself in a fight; and your uncle doesn't practise his hand-to-hand combat skills often enough." With a poise he was far from feeling, Malcolm rose to his full height, every finger extended as he stretched. Tommy nodded.

"Granny says he never liked fightin'," he said confidentially. "So you weren't..."

"Just a training drill." He could feel the air at the back of his neck being stirred up by Trip's nodding-dog act and, with a smile for the watching child, Malcolm leaned to snag his horse's rein. "Is your granny expecting us back for dinner, Tom?"

"Grandpa says you're t' leave the horses and come eat." As he parroted the instruction Tommy's gaze rested longingly on the bigger horse's gleaming bay flank. Trip sighed gustily.

"Malcolm you mind givin' Tommy a leg-up?" he mock-groused, helpless not to laugh at the boy's exuberant whoop. As soon as his nephew was up and hanging onto his waist he wheeled Jupiter away, giving the Englishman time to clamber less elegantly into Harvey's saddle. "C'mon - Mom promised pineapple cake especially for you tonight."

*

"She shouldn't have gone to so much trouble. Oh, that felt good!"

Trip repeated the pressure, revelling in the flash of pure ecstasy that crossed his boyfriend's slack features. "Just there?"

"Mmmm, please." One pleasure-dazed grey eye popped open. "Even if - God, yes! - I don't remember riding cramping my feet."

"Can't be too careful, darlin'." With a dip of the head Trip added a long suck to a wriggling big toe, swirling his tongue around in response to Malcolm's startled squeal. Lazily he began to work his cream-slicked hands upward, over well-made calves and on to tickle the unexpectedly sensitive spots behind the Brit's kneecaps, braced for the younger man's sudden convulsion. "You feelin' okay?"

"Heavenly, thank you. Trip!"

He lifted his smling mouth from the smooth skin of his lover's inner thigh, blowing over the small bite-mark before aiming higher and more centrally. "Liked that?"

The fabled Reed eloquence, he noted smugly, had gone offline like a malfunctioning UT. "Get used t' this, Gorgeous; we got four days 'f debauchery at Johnny's place comin' up!"

"I may not - mmmm, just _there_ \- survive it. Fuck!"

"You'll be just fine, darlin'." Malcolm's florid phallus pulsed against his tongue and Trip sucked the salt taste deep into his mouth. "Hell, you've survived my folks - you can handle anything after that."

A loose, silly smile unrolled across his boyfriend's face. "Prove it," Malcolm invited.

With true Tucker enthusiasm Trip set about doing exactly that.


	7. San Francisco: I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm learns a few things about his captain. Including that he's an incorrigible romantic fool.

"Well, what do you think?"

Malcolm surveyed the sunlit lounge with its large picture windows, muted beige and cream furnishing and crisp, masculine feel. "Very posh," he approved, dropping his bag onto the single couch. "But it's a bit _spartan_. Bare walls? I didn't expect _that_."

"Nah, he took all his pictures for Enterprise." Jon's penthouse also happened to have one of the best views in town, and toward that Trip steered his lover with a hand at the small of his back. "We got exclusive use of the roof terrace, did I mention that?"

"Yes, but - oh!" For a moment Reed surveyed the vista stretching way out over the water, the Golden Gate standing tall and elegant across the bay. "That must make this one of the priciest bits of property in San Francisco!"

"Pity he's not here much to enjoy it." Sliding his arms around the smaller man's waist, Trip dropped his chin onto Malcolm's shoulder and closed his eyes, drinking in the quiet satisfaction of being alone with this wonderful, complicated, irresistible man. "There's only a galley kitchen and no dinin' table - he's not big on socialising planetside."

"Considering most of the city probably wants an invite to the great Captain Archer's table, I'm not surprised." In any other time and place it might have sounded sarcastic but, he guessed, even Malcolm couldn't raise the level of cynicism required to mar this moment. 

"Means we got an excuse to eat on the terrace - you wanna go up and take a look?"

"In a minute."

Fifteen minutes later Tucker dragged his head up off its pillow and pressed a kiss against his lover's ear. "We can't stand here forever, Mal."

"Mmm, pity." Despite the warmth of the spring evening a chill settled over Reed as he was released. "Where's the bedroom?"

"Man, have you got a one-track mind today!" 

An eyebrow arched. "And Milord disapproves?"

That voice. Rich and slightly husky, it flowed like a meandering stream right from Trip's ear to the base of his dick. "Nope. C'mon, Cap'n said he'd leave the kitchen stocked up. You wanna check?"

For an instant, clouds rolled through the Englishman's expressive eyes. "All right."

A moment later he was rocking back on his heels, arms crossed over his chest and head cocked. "I see what you mean about eating on the terrace; you couldn't swing a kitten, never mind a grown cat, in here! And I always thought he was such a gregarious chap!"

"Not where he might hafta invite visitin' dignitaries for a home-cooked dinner he's not." A small PADD on the counter caught his eye and Trip stretched out a long arm to snag it. " _Hey guys_ ," he read. " _There's food for a week in the refrigerator, and ration-packs in the deep-freeze in case Trip's not the only one with a cookin' allergy_ \- cheeky sonofabitch, like he's any better! _The guest bed's been changed and there's paper in the john. Have a fantastic time. I'll see you back on Enterprise Friday, Jon - or Captain Archer if you're going to insist, Mister Reed!_ "

"Charming!"

Tucker brightened. "Least we're getting fed at his expense; and there's a neat little Italian that delivers a few blocks away, if you don't want to eat out."

"I don't."

"Really?"

The dark head tipped from left side to right, nostrils flaring ever-so-slightly in a familiarly _Lt Reed's superior officer is a certifiable fool_ kind of way. "We're in Starfleet territory. I have no intention of being gawked at by the public, approached by fellow officers or noticed by our desk-flying superiors at the end of my bloody holiday. Clear?"

"As the waters of the Gulf of Mexico, darlin'." Still, Trip had to check one last little point. "That mean the 602's out?"

"I doubt Ruby works there anymore."

"And _miaow_ t' you too, Lieutenant." 

Reed coloured faintly. "I don't mean to be an antisocial arsehole, love, but we're back on duty at the weekend and - well, I've had to share you with Mad and then all the other Tuckers for the last two weeks. I was rather hoping to monopolise you, and if we walk into an officer's haunt..."

"Guess so." He couldn't deny the thrill running down his spine at the prospect of this man's undivided attention. "Wanna see the good bits now?"

Malcolm nodded. "Back through the lounge, third door on the right. Guest suite - main bathroom's next to it, then Jon's room's on the other side. I kinda promised we'd keep out of that."

"Too bloody right we will. Honestly Trip, it'd be like shagging in your parents' bed!"

For a heartbeat they simply stared at each other. Then, on a bark of laughter, the Englishman turned and sauntered into the guest bedroom, Trip trotting at his heels with the enthusiasm of a beagle pup.

"Oh, now this _is_ nice!"

Immediately he thought Mal must have spotted the shady garden beneath the window but no - the brunet was regarding the comfortable queen-size bed with the same narrowed fascination he usually reserved for alien emissaries to Enterprise who might be hiding sabres beneath their official robes. Kicking off his shoes, Malcolm hurled himself full length, nuzzling his face into the downy comforter with a purr of near-hedonistic pleasure. " _Very_ nice," he amended, rolling onto his back with one arm thrown up over his head. 

Trip swallowed hard. 

His free hand slipping inside his open shirt collar Malcolm licked his lips, letting his eyelids droop while his concealed fingers worked the buttons until they popped, exposing a gaping V of alabaster chest. "Uh Malcolm, you tryin' to seduce me here?"

Another button popped. "Am I succeeding?"

Trip's penis throbbed right at the wrong moment. "Yeah," he squeaked. Malcolm hit him with the deadliest version of his trademark half-smile.

"Then come here," he cooed, crooking a long finger his lover's way. "I've been wanting your weight on me all day."

Tractor beams, Tucker realised. This was what being caught in them felt like. No will of his own, no strength to resist, and with Malcolm squirming out of his shirt, no reason to object, either.

Still, there was something missing - something important. "Darlin', lemme go get..."

"It's all right." Mesmerizing stormcloud eyes drew him in and before he knew it Trip was sprawled across his boyfriend, the mattress sinking with a satisfied sigh beneath their combined weight. Strong legs wrapped around him, agile fingers already attacking buttons and zippers. Between hungry kisses Reed panted his desire with a lack of shame that would, had he been thinking, have astonished him. "Need you - inside me. Now."

His clothing seemed to dissolve under the younger man's scorching touch. "Lube?" Trip grunted, lifting his hips just long enough for his pants to be shoved down. Malcolm seized his hand, drawing the fingers down deep into his mouth.

"Spit and care," he mumbled into the wriggling digits, tongue corkscrewing around each in turn. Thinking, let alone speaking coherently, was getting tough, but by dint of a mammoth effort Trip almost managed it.

"Sure?"

The dark head wagged and with a slurping pop his fingers came free right at the same time as their erections rubbed. "Yeesss," Malcolm exhaled, eyes drifting shut at the sensation. Dreamy, he guided the glistening fingers downward, hips coming off the bed in rhythm with his shoulders as Trip rimmed the middle one around his puckered hole. "Just - oh! - go slow."

As he sank into his lover's welcoming heat Trip realised with a giddy rush of joy he was free to do exactly that for the rest of their vacation. No relatives to impress. Nowhere to go. Nobody but each other to please. 

And when Malcolm groaned his name, powerful thighs clamped hard around his waist, Trip could confidently - if fuzzily - congratulate them both on getting pretty damned good at that.

*

He woke early to find sunlight streaming through the open blinds and gilding the finely chiselled profile of the man still fathoms deep at his side, the brilliance of an azure sky promising another perfect Californian day. A soft smile touched the corners of his mouth.

In spite of Clan Tucker's best efforts Malcolm's milky complexion had refused to take a tan, and liberal applications of lotion avoided the mottled lobster effect common to fair skins in the searing Southern sun. Trip ghosted a fingertip above the line of one fine cheekbone, barely restraining the urge to touch his sleeping beauty's unmarred skin. The wonder of it, after five weeks together, refused to diminish. _He's really here. He's mine._

Inch by tortuous inch he stretched a long leg out of bed, toes contracting sharply against the air's first kiss. Malcolm mewled in his sleep, his spooned body instinctively following Trip's warmth as it moved away, sending tickles right through the engineer's chest. "It's okay babe: back soon," he breathed, waiting until the Englishman had settled back into deeper sleep before backing toward the tiny bathroom. Satisfied he wouldn't be missed, he did what needed to be done then crept away to the kitchen, almost hugging himself with glee.

It was the sweet-smoke tang of frying bacon tickling his nostrils that roused Reed soon after, easing the climb to consciousness and dulling the instantaneous stab of dismay at finding himself alone that comprehensively disposed of his habitual morning semi. Tossing off the covers he padded into the bathroom whistling between his teeth, too cocooned in complacency to marvel at the miracle of having Charles Tucker III making his breakfast. 

Half-snatches of tuneless singing reached across the water's hiss and Malcolm rushed his teeth-brushing enough to make himself gag in his haste to join the other man. He paused for a moment to survey his unclothed state in the steamed-up oval mirror over the basin, shrugged and ran a hand back through already impossibly tousled hair. If he hadn't unpacked, neither had Trip, and if he was frying bacon in the raw... 

The over-ripe tones of Doctor Phlox flooded his mind. _And how_ exactly _did you manage to get blisters_ there _, Commander?_

Malcolm was chuckling so hard crossing the lounge it took a moment to register that Trip was laughing too.

There again, he acknowledged, confronted with that magnificent backside undefended by so much as a paper hankie, he wouldn't have noticed the Band of the Grenadier Guards tap-dancing starkers on the worktop. "Morning," he croaked.

"Hey." He hadn't expected the flash of lust that crossed Tucker's face as he spun, or the sudden slackening of the man's grip that sent a dark green bottle plunging toward the floor. Malcolm lunged to grab it, the thick glass slick against his hot palm. "Oops. See what the sight of you naked does to me, Mister Reed?"

"The feeling's mutual, love, but what's this?"

If his birthday suit had pockets, Trip would have been stuffing his hands in them as he jerked his head toward a bright yellow sticky note on the inside of the refrigerator door. "From Cupid's fuckin' apprentice," he growled. Squinting, Malcolm leaned in to look.

" _Dear Trip and Malcolm_ ," he read, disbelief colouring his clipped diction. " _I'm so happy you've finally come to your senses! Enjoy this_ \- he's even put a heart at the tip of his arrow, the gormless git - _on me, but Trip, if you plan on taking it to bed, just remember that promise about my sheets!_ What promise?"

He watched enraptured as a blush worked its way right up from beneath Tucker's luxuriant chest-rug. "Oh. I kinda promised t' hand-launder any stains we put in 'em out 'f his guest sheets."

"Which means I'm going to be busy on the last morning," The implication sent heat surging through Malcolm's veins. Absently he wiped one glass-chilled hand against his brow. "But why would we get champagne..."

"Guess he knew I wouldn't waste it on fancy glasses." 

Thin lips puckered into a puzzled frown and Trip's susceptible heart twisted painfully at proof of his dear one's romantic ignorance. "I figure it'll taste real good just here," he growled, feathering the hollow at the base of the brunet's throat with his tongue. As Malcolm clutched his shoulders, dizzy with sensation's southerly rush, he worked a hand between them, bracing against the knee-weakening effect of his finger teasing the smaller man's navel. "Or maybe outta this cute lil' belly button."

"Oh!" Whether current sensation or future prospect was more exciting Malcolm couldn't tell as his legs turned to jelly and he sagged, his forgotten morning issue reasserting itself forcefully against Trip's hairy thigh. "That sounds... oh fuck, bacon's burning!"

"Shit!" Trip rocketed back, already reaching for the grill. "Toast's on the turn too - you wanna try those scrambled eggs? They may need a little more pepper."

Malcolm forked a small portion from the piled hot plate. "Seems fine to me," he said amiably before scooping some more and presenting the fork to his boyfriend. Trip let his tongue slide sensually around the morsel before swallowing, delighted by the sudden jump of the Brit's adam's apple. 

"Grab the fruit juice and coffee pot?" he suggested, low and gravelled. 

Despite the hints, he gathered, Malcolm hadn't gotten around to fully working out where he expected breakfast to be eaten. "You're not thinking of the terrace, then?" the Englishman squeaked.

Trip waggled his eyebrows. "Not thinkin' of anywhere that needs clothes."

"Hm." Though his face remained impassive, other parts of Malcolm's anatomy were registering definite approval. "You're spoiling me, Mister Tucker. This'll be our second breakfast in bed."

"And I'd do it every day if it wouldn't make us late for duty." Feeling reckless, Trip swept up his laden tray of goodies and waved the other man out of the cramped box. "It's almost three weeks since I had you alone in the morning. We got some _lost time_ to make up for, if you're up for it?"

Giving himself a cursory glance, Malcolm smiled and laid himself out full-length on the rumpled bed. "Very much so. And if I'm going to be hand washing the Captain's linen on the last day here it had better be properly mucky, don't you think?"

Not even a Vulcan, Trip concluded as he tumbled into his beloved's open arms, could be expected to question logic like that.


	8. San Francisco: II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They had to venture out, really. A day around town gives Trip an unexpected insight into Malcolm's past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor reference to 4.17 "Bound".

Malcolm sat back with a groan, discreetly loosening his fly button before giving his belly a congratulatory rub. "It's lucky we're heading back out tomorrow," he announced, leaning back to allow their waitress access to his scraped-clean plate. "Eating here often enough would even persuade _me_ to like fish! D' you want to hang on for coffee?"

"I'm good to go," Trip affirmed with a grin that made the pretty redhead collecting his cutlery quiver noisily. He wouldn't have noticed but for the scowl that danced so attractively over his companion's suddenly pinched features. "If you're ready to move on?"

"I suppose we should." The area around their waterfront stop had got busy while they ate, and observing the throng from their table in the restaurant's window sent a chill down Malcolm's sweat-slicked spine. Absently tossing his half of lunch's cost onto the table he hauled himself up and offered his hand. "It's been a marvellous few days being selfish with you, Trip. Thanks for arranging it."

"Nothing to it, since we're usin' Johnny's place and all we've got to do for rent's to launder his sheets." 

"They're far too small for his bed, so it doesn't have to be perfect." Even as the words escaped him, Reed was marvelling. "You're a shocking influence, aren't you? I'd never have said that to anybody else."

"Glad to be of service, darlin'." He might claim to loathe pet-names but Malcolm glowed every time that one was bestowed. If using it on the bridge wouldn't guarantee a beating, Trip thought he might never call his lover anything else. "You realise he's gonna be tying himself in knots when we get back, tryin' to ask if we stayed out 'f his room."

Mischief turned Malcolm's changeable eyes the blue of the sunlit Pacific. "I think he has a healthy enough regard for my combat skills to restrict _those_ questions to your water polo hours, Mistah Tuckah! Just remind him the en suite's _real handy when y' need a damp towel in a hurry._ "

"I'm not sure that's why he took the other bedroom when he moved in, but hey - he's open-minded about these things." Being Trip Tucker's shoulder to cry on during too many emotional disasters, he had to be. Malcolm cocked his head.

"I did wonder why he'd take the smaller, less convenient bedroom," he observed, the slightest twitch betraying embarrassment at the frank nosiness of the remark. Trip shrugged.

"His Mom used t' use the other one when she came visiting," he explained. If the creases deepening across his brow were any guide, Malcolm just found that more confusing.

"Did she, ah, do that often?"

"Every couple of months until she got sick. Then he started going to her."

"They must've been very close."

It was the unconscious wistfulness of the words that finished him. Careless of the babbling crowds Trip lunged to drag his crestfallen lover into a crushing hug, resentment against Stuart and Mary Reed's coldness making him rough. Malcolm stiffened for a microsecond before the Southerner's warmth seeped through to his chilled marrow and he softened, burrowing his nose into the crook of the taller man's neck. 

"Yes, they were," Trip agreed, keeping his voice low and soothing. "Even though she didn't much approve of _all that flittin' around in space_ we were doing."

"I suppose that upset him."

"Only because he knew it bothered her. He respected her opinion, just like she did his."

He could hear the clang of metal plates snapping together when Malcolm drew back, preparing him for the shutters that blanked the Brit's usually lively grey eyes. "That must be nice. What's next?"

"Whatever you want, darlin'." Unintentionally he had wounded his boyfriend, reminding him of familial norms that had no place among the Reeds and Trip ached to punch himself on the nose. Maybe nobody else would see it but Malcolm had turned in on himself, the dimming of his usual confident aura taking centimetres off his already more limited stature. A little cherishing was definitely in order. "How about headin' back?"

So far, in defiance of his intentions, San Fran had almost matched London for its whistle-stop _eight-sights-in-six-hours_ scheduling. What really freaked Trip was the discovery that with Malcolm hanging onto his arm, he didn't even mind museums too much. 

He had a nasty feeling he'd be calling on Phlox within an hour of Enterprise's launch, looking for some kind of cure for Reed Deprivation.

"I suppose I could accept that." He sounded unbearably complacent to his own ears but when that big, strong hand around his tightened, Malcolm chose not to care. The sun was shining, no alien or human nutcases loomed up on the horizon, and he was being cosseted by the man of his dreams. What more could a sensible man want?

Something trundled noisily up the street, whipping up a hot storm of dust, and he stopped dead, staring like a little boy. _Oh. That._

"Mal?" Puzzlement creasing his forehead Trip peered down at his frozen companion, giving the lax hand in his a helpless tug. "Wassup? Never seen a cable car before?"

"Hm? Oh, sorry, yes." Still focussed on the rackety old vehicle, he stumbled into forward motion. Trip pursed his mouth.

"We could catch a ride if you want?"

_Bingo._

The internal battle might not disturb his facial muscles but it showed plain in Malcolm's light, bright eyes. "We're on vacation, remember."

The brunet snorted. "And that's an excuse to be reckless?"

"If we want it to be - why not?" 

The debate ended on a waiting car's steps, and Tucker had his wallet out before Reed could object. "C'mon, Malcolm! I've not seen that look of pure _want_ on your face since those goddamn Orion girls came aboard..."

"Well your attention's obviously been south of my fair face in the last few weeks, then. Ow!"

"Don't get smart with me, Limey." Withdrawing his elbow from the younger man's ribs, Tucker acknowledged he wasn't sure of their destination, but what the heck? If they could navigate the Malinaro Cluster, they could handle a town they'd both lived in for four years. Settling beside his fidgeting lover Trip gazed in disbelief at the open expression of glee on habitually controlled features. "I don't get it. Doesn't every cadet ride one of these things in the first semester?"

"Not if they're skint they don't."

In the half-second it took for the word to make sense Trip's heart found time to plummet into boots that felt two sizes smaller than when they'd left Jon's in the cool of the morning. "There aren't many cars still running, so I guess it's kind of expensive," he conceded, proceeding with a caution he never, to his lover's dismay, showed on away missions. Malcolm grunted.

"Especially when you can't afford to shit in a public bog. God they don't half jolt around!"

"Hey, they're about the only things in town older than Ambassador Soval!" The crack won a reluctant grin, and that emboldened him to ask the natural question. "You had it tough, getting through the Academy?"

"I may have mentioned before," Reed replied drily, "that parental support was in rather short supply."

"Ouch."

Neutrality worked. "It was made abundantly clear - via a third party, Dad wouldn't speak to me direct - that I'd be wasting somebody else's money on my _ridiculous idea of becoming an astronaut_. He had an almighty row with Gran when she insisted on honouring Granddad's bequest in my final year and that, apparently, was my fault too. Delayed the money coming through by six months. Miserable bastard."

Cold rage. He felt it envelop him every time Malcolm let slip another hint of Stuart Reed's wilful cruelty. "How did you..."

"Odd jobs. Tutoring. Christ, I even enrolled as a guide at the Space Museum."

"Stopping spoilt schoolkids shovin' their fingers into scale models of the early warp ships?" 

"While heartily wishing I should shove their heads up their own smelly arses." Malcolm grimaced at the memory. "Still, I've not met many aliens more repellent than some of those school parties, and it paid the bills. Between that and giving combat tuition to the incompetent... you remember Commander Innerhofer?"

"Meester Tucker, zat attack hass all ze impact of ze kees of a dying rabbit!"

Heads turned. Malcolm snickered. "I was his not-so-glamorous assistant. Any vacant clodhopper who might've failed their first year self-defence class, he sent my way. That's how I first met Travis, actually. He _may_ still owe me money. Are we getting off here?"

"We may as well." Chinatown. There were, Tucker considered, worse places to wind up. "Guess that means you never had dinner here, either?"

"Unfortunately, no."

"Then what do you say to takin' a tour this afternoon, then rectifyin' that there appalling gap in your cultural experience?" Before the wrinkle between dark brows could deepen, Tucker held up a peremptory hand. "And if you're gonna get snitty about it, I'll even let you pay."

"I do like Chinese food."

"Halleluljah! He can admit to likin' something!"

"Oh, shut up you great wassock!" Dodging an attempt against his perfectly-groomed hair, Malcolm almost fell of the sidewalk. "Balls. You make me laugh too much."

If that was the worst he could be accused of, Trip figured he must be doing okay. Ostentatiously tucking the Englishman into the crook of his arm, he risked the ultimate test of a Reed's tolerance. He swooped down for a sweet, slow kiss.

"Mmm, very nice. If I'd known you in my student days, my food bills would've been even lower."

It was Tucker's turn to frown. "How?"

The track of a pink tongue around those kiss-blushed lips held a hypnotic fascination. "Whoever says man can't live on love alone has obviously never kissed you, Commander," Malcolm cooed, pleasure prickling the fine hairs on his arms at the sight of his partner's bashful pride. "If I'd had that kind of nourishment on tap I wouldn't have needed as many _just-past-the-sell-by-date_ bargains. If you're ever in need of a cheap meal - I'm your man."

Sunny blue eyes pierced frosty grey with the precision of a laser beam. "You're my man for a whole lot more than that, Mal," Trip pledged solemnly. "And don't you ever forget it."

Drowning. Malcolm couldn't remember why he had ever feared it. It happened every time he looked into those ocean eyes and saw the adoration swelling within them. "I won't," he whispered, the words lost as they were caught up in the pedestrian flow like flotsam pulled from the shore. 

He drifted with the human current, oblivious to the solid ground beneath his feet. Perhaps Mum and Dad would never visit the home he imagined having on Earth someday. Maybe the old codger would succumb to instantaneous cardiac failure when he discovered his son and heir had found yet another way to _disgrace the family name_. As long as Trip would gaze at him with those loving, limpid eyes and hold his hand this tight, it didn't matter.

The enormity of the gifts unwittingly bestowed staggered him. Acceptance on his own terms. Affection without qualification. All the things he had craved, yet never expected to receive. 

The sickly sensation of envy he had been feeling since Trip mentioned the Captain's mother melted away. Swaying closer into his boyfriend's space he drank in the faintly citrus-and-spice that clung to the man and let the languorous Southern drawl make love to his ears. This was - little sisters and inquisitive Tuckers notwithstanding - by far the best holiday he had ever had.


	9. Home, Sweet Enterprise: I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holidays have to end. It's time for the boys to head back and face their future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back in episode 2.04 "Dead Stop" Malcolm mentions a female "Crewman Hayes". Obviously it's a favourite name of the producers!

"I'm sorry, Commander - Lieutenant. There's a technical fault at the launch pad." The pretty cadet behind the single tiny check-in station looked like she might burst into tears if they breathed too hard. With a shrug that made his backpack lurch dangerously off his left shoulder Trip treated her to his most encouraging smile. 

If he failed to spot her simper his partner did not, and his already tattered nerves frayed further.

"It can't be helped," Tucker drawled, giving the scowling Englishman a jab in the ribs. "Any idea how long..."

"There's a team working on it, sir, but..."

Malcolm sniffed. "We'll take a seat then, shall we?" The lounge was already crowded with personnel, mostly uniformed but a scattering, like the two men, still in holiday clothes. "There must be some hope of departure today for so many people to be sitting on their suitcases."

"Maybe I'll borrow me a toolkit and go lend a hand." Pleased with alliance of disapproval formed on both sides of the counter by his genial suggestion, Trip shucked off his rucksack and ambled toward the last unoccupied sofa directly opposite the desk, trusting to his companion's solemn rectitude to avoid any dissent. "Dammit! They'll have the docking hatches locked before we get there."

"As you say, it can't be helped." Malcolm perched on the couch's edge, shuffling a millimetre further away as he realised he'd landed just too close to indicate _good-buddies-but-nothing-more_ status. The near corner of his neighbour's mouth turned down.

"You sound awfully cool about that, considering this means we've gotta behave in public for longer," he breathed, briefly wondering if he would ever tire of the way that rosy flush eased its way up from beneath Malcolm's collar. "You want coffee?"

"I could kill for a decent cup of tea, if the machine's in the right mood."

"Leave it t' me, Lootenant." Heads turned, but Reed belatedly realised that had been the intention. Head high, the sunniest smile ever on his honey-tanned face, Trip sauntered to the vending machine and gave it a fond pat. "Just like a warp engine, these babies always recognise an exper's touch."

"Black coffee all round then," Malcolm growled. Trip only hoped the resultant titters among fellow-passengers drowned out his pathetic whimper.

It was, he admitted, insane how little the man had to do to turn him into a quivering mess of arousal. A smile, a word in that husky tone, and - _zap_. All he wanted was someplace private and that wicked mouth wrapping itself around his cock.

"I'll have a cappuccino if you're buying, Commander."

The familiar voice at his shoulder made Trip start, coffee sloshing over his hand from the first cup obligingly provided by the outsized machine. "I'm just a generous kinda guy, Crewman," he pouted at a petite brunet with almond-shaped eyes of the darkest chocolate. Serena Hayes stuck out a beautifully-manicured hand. 

"Two sugars please, Sir. Hi, Lieutenant. Good vacation?"

"Thank you, yes." Nobody did imperturbable dignity better than Malcolm Reed; certainly not Trip Tucker, who gawked and shuffled like a prefect caught with his hand in the tuckshop till. "And you?"

"Great, until I bumped into Ethan." Her elbow connected with Novakovic's belly and the young man groaned, doubling over in mock agony. "He's been following me like a lovestruck puppy since I hit California."

"In your dreams, squirt." Adding a tug on the woman's braid for emphasis, Novakovic accepted the Styrofoam cup Trip offered with a shoddy salute. "But this is a bummer, waiting around like some twentieth-century airplane passenger. I thought we were too advanced for this kind of thing."

"That's the problem with machines, Crewman - always breaking down," Reed drawled, impassive as he met his travelling companion's suspicious stare. "It's why starships still carry Chief Engineers, apparently."

_Nice, Malcolm_ , Tucker acknowledged with a silent snicker. _I know you're flirting, but to them..._

Right on cue the two crewmen retreated, warily watching their superiors for a sign of their good-natured banter taking a harder edge. Deftly Trip summoned his boyfriend's tea and collapsed at his side, stage-whispering an apology when their thighs connected. He didn't like it, but if Malcolm wanted to play-act their old platonic friendship a while longer, he could live with it.

As if he read the Southerner's thoughts (and Trip wouldn't have put it past him) Malcolm took advantage of a lazy stretch to whisper in his ear, the words fanning hot against hyper-sensitive flesh. "Enterprise first, love: the rest of Starfleet can wait."

_Love_. It jump-started his heart every time Trip heard that ever-so-British endearment aimed his way. "Sounds good," he agreed, leaning back with one hand tucked behind his head. Serena and Ethan had gone back to their own friendly squabble, ignoring the senior officers with an ease that displayed their complete lack of suspicion. From the top of his pack he freed a PADD containing the last six months' _Warp Engineering Journal_ and burrowed his butt into the couch with a satisfied grunt. "Might as well do somethin' useful while we're waiting!"

He even pretended not to feel his companion's knee brush his as Malcolm followed his lead, measuring his breathing by the easy tempo of the younger man's. Maybe this _no PDA_ rule wasn't going to be as tough to follow as he'd thought.

*

The shuttle ride, after a three-hour wait, did nothing to challenge that cosy assumption. Squeezed into a seat-and-a-half on a badly overcrowded transport, pressed together at shoulder, hip and thigh, the two men surprised themselves by talking companionably, reading in contented silence, and keeping their notoriously wandering hands under proper control.

Malcolm found it all deeply disturbing. 

Still, it made falling into a suitable place half a pace behind his superior officer at the entryport easy, dark head dipped to hide his grin as the flustered young male officer on duty logged their arrival and joined the list of Starfleet personnel humbly apologising for an unavoidable inconvenience. "Captain Archer's arranged accommodation on the Europa Balcony, Commander; the restaurant's open until twenty-three hundred hours, and the docking hatch opens at zero-seven-thirty hours. If there's anything else you or Lieutenant Reed need..."

"Just a bed and a meal before we rejoin the ship, thanks." Trip could feel the smaller man's tension seeping through the narrow gap between them, enhancing his own. Johnny organising accommodation. _Does Jupiter Station have a bridal suite?_

He was pretty sure he felt Malcolm's sigh of relief tickling the hair at his nape when two codes were handed over. And the Armoury Officer hadn't run as fast toward the shuttle the night they'd been ambushed by Suliban on Rantar Thirteen as he did to the nearest turbolift on a friendly station.

After the crowded entryport and a short ride in a turbolift that should have been labelled _Sardine Can Twelve_ , the wide hallway along the exterior "Senior Personnel" deck beckoned the Englishman like the long-abandoned cloister of a mediaeval monastic ruin at home. All it needed was an overgrown drinking fountain tinkling away in the corner. 

"I thought this was restricted access - captains and above only," he commented, the words echoing back off the pristine white walls. Trip shrugged.

"We can thank him in the morning," he said, preoccupied with entering his keycode. Before the door was fully open Malcolm was on him, roughly shoving him through the narrowest of gaps. "Wha..."

What felt like a dozen pairs of hands worked over his upper body while his mouth was ravaged in a full-on Reed assault. It wasn't an approved Starfleet tactic, but Trip surrendered. Instantly.

"Whoa, darlin'!" he managed to pant when the need for oxygen forced his dazed-looking assailant to back off - partially at least, the hands still slithering beneath his shirt leaving trails of molten lava through his chest hair. Malcolm grunted.

"Sorry, sorry," he gasped, his pelvis thrusting to bring their lower bodies into momentary contact. What little breath he'd managed to catch was forced from Tucker's lungs. "It's been torture - wanting to touch you so much..."

"I know." His erection pulsed painfully against his fly but the words smothered Trip's hormonal insanity for a sweet moment. "I kept wanting to sit on my hands, stop myself reachin' out to you, but we did it. Kinda proved something to ourselves."

"I'm not intending to ravish you on duty, even if you do look bloody shaggable in uniform." What tenderness did for Trip's out-of-control libido, humour achieved in Malcolm and he stepped away with a wry half-smile just tugging his swollen mouth. "I suppose, since Captain Cupid's gone to so much trouble, wangling us posh digs, we ought to try the restaurant as well."

The only thing Trip really wanted to taste was the salt slime of his man's seed as Malcolm spurted down his throat, but like an obedient puppy he felt himself wagging his head. "Okay. Ten minutes?"

"Make it fifteen. I stink of overcrowded shuttle."

Tucker's sloping nose wrinkled. "You know, it kinda works on you."

Reed was still chortling, and still wondering what had happened to his legendary self-control, when he hit the two-person glass and steel shower in his own huge apartment three minutes later.

*

"It's all right, Commander, we're charging to Enterprise - Captain Archer's instruction." Their dedicated waitress - a sleek strawberry blonde with a silver lapel badge identifying her as Susan - discreetly pretended no to see Malcolm's eyebrow reach levels no Vulcan could match while simultaneously topping up Trip's wineglass and offering it to the sputtering Southerner. "Would you like coffee to finish your meals?"

A polite refusal was already working its way up his throat when his companion nodded. "Yeah, why not," Trip conceded weakly. The moment her back was turned, he thrust out his tongue.

"Mmm, and I'll have some of that too, please." As Tucker fought off a bid for freedom by his adam's apple Malcolm dropped the napkin he'd been toying with and snatched his partner's unresisting hand instead, carrying it to his lips. "I love you so much, Charles Tucker the Third. You know that, don't you?"

Their surroundings melded into a blur, images of the last few weeks whirling through Trip's head. "Yes," he whispered, turning his fingers to link through the Englishman's, their joined hands resting in the middle of the table. "And you know it's mutual, right?"

Their fluffy bubble erupted with light when Reed smiled. Their coffee might have materialised by transporter for all the stir it caused. "I do," the Englishman affirmed. 

Subtle Susan backed away with a smile. Trip guided their hands his way, tongue circling each of Malcolm's knuckles in turn. 

To him the brunet's sigh sounded louder than the average fire siren. Gazing into his boyfriend's winter-ocean eyes Trip brought up his free hand to encircle Malcolm's, letting himself drift in their uncharacteristically placid depths.

Minutes ticked by. Their drinks cooled. Neither man stirred.

Until a high voice, bright as her vibrant red dress with delight, pierced the eatery's ecclesiastic hush. "Trip, Malcolm, hell - _oh!_ " 

Reed blinked, the return of awareness uncurling through him as if he were being roused from the most refreshing sleep. He smiled at the intruder, the serenity that surrounded him like a halo undimmed when her dazzled dark eyes rested on their entangled hands. "Hello, Hoshi," he said huskily before his gaze was pulled back, magnetised, to Tucker's. 

"Hi," Trip seconded vaguely, more focussed on the increased pressure of Malcolm's palm against his than the excited beam that threatened the linguist's delicate jawbone. Accepting the invitation neither man was coherent enough to express, Hoshi Sato dragged a vacant chair from the neighbouring empty table and plopped into it directly facing their joined hands.

"This is so fantastic!" she breathed, her ringless fingers clasped at her throat like a bashful girl's. "I mean when did you - oh, Travis is going to be so _excited_ , we'd almost convinced ourselves it was just a little mutual crushing! Really, I'm so happy for you both I could sing!"

"Please Ensign, spare us the horror." Trip's stomach lurched dangerously but Malcolm, he gathered, was indifferent to discovering his romantic preferences hadn't been such a secret after all. Rearing up from her seat Hoshi planted an extravagant kiss at the nearest cheekbone's peak. 

"Just this time I'll forgive you that crack," she cackled, subsiding under the stares of three other diners and a dozen staff hanging around the bar. "When did you - sorry, I mean, is it a secret?"

Neither man noticed her eye-roll as each studied his beloved's handsome face. "Evidently not," Malcolm replied, his composure wavering in the face of Trip's heartbreakingly open relief. "And no - you haven't been missing anything. It's all rather new."

"And wonderful." He wasn't usually a hopeless sap: unlike Hoshi, Tucker decided as their friend almost dissolved into a mushy puddle over the table. "We're not makin' any big announcement, Hosh, but - we're together, and if people want to stare..."

"Malcolm will _punch their lights out_ ," Hoshi supplied on a giggle the Englishman privately thought much more tuneful than her threatened Hallelujah Chorus. "Oh, I can't wait to see Travis's face, and the Captain's going to be so happy! Have you told him yet?"

"Just got back from a few days at his place in San Fran," Trip confirmed, and it was only when her squeal went up two octaves he realised his partner had aimed a steel toecap at her ankle. "And that's top-secret unless you wanna be first in line for the airlock."

"Understood." It didn't escape Trip's notice that their friend would lean into Malcolm's personal space with more confidence than Madeleine ever did. "And I promise I won't even say you're unbelievably sweet together - even though you are."

"Living dangerously, Miss Sato?"

"Learned from the best, Mister Reed." She followed up ruffling his hair with another swift peck to the cheek, then, when Trip pouted, lurched the other way to kiss him, too. "But I can see you've just about finished here, and you don't want to sit around gossiping with me, right? I mean, you must have better things to do..."

The more she batted her eyelashes the hotter Trip blushed, but Malcolm merely grinned and aimed a playful swat her way. "You can have our table, then," he offered, levering himself upright without releasing the Southerner's hand. "Except - I don't mean to be rude, but don't ensigns usually get kicked down to the Ganymede deck?"

"I've got a room there, but Captain Archer arranged for me to eat up here. Malcolm, _please_ don't look at me like that, it's scary. What did I say wrong?"

"Well I'll be damned," Tucker breathed, chilled as if an Andorian wind had suddenly ripped through the station. "The sneaky sonofabitch set us up!"

"I don't get it," Hoshi wailed, looking up from one man to the other and back. Small white teeth cut her bottom lip. "Have I done something wrong? You're not offended..."

"Of course not." While his lover gaped helplessly, Reed forced a smile at the stricken woman. "Captain bloody Cupid, Starfleet's matchmaker to the sodding galaxy, set us _all_ up. Trying to get us an extra ally, I suppose."

"Malcolm." Hands on hips, Hoshi fixed her most fearsome friend with the look of an exasperated but adoring mother. "The Captain knows you'll have a whole ship full of _allies_ , you moron! Yes, people may be surprised, but you've got to know by now they're your friends! If you're happy, we're going to be happy for you - it's not like we didn't realise the attraction was there!"

"That's kind 'f embarrassing for us, Hosh," Trip pointed out, visibly restraining the urge to shuffle his feet. "But we appreciate the support don't we, darlin'?"

The joy that suffused his lover at their first endearment before an insider swelled his chest and made Hoshi turn aside, one hand lifted to conceal her dreamy smile. "I suppose we do," Malcolm agreed slowly, drawing himself to his parade-ground stance. "Love."

Trip wasn't surprised her shoulders still shook with repressed glee at his own thunderstruck reaction a full two minutes later. Picking up his bruised jaw off the floor he waved Subtle Susan to her new client, snatched Malcolm's hand and fled.


	10. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's one last ghost to be laid.

Long fingers curled around his wrist, sliding down until their palms connected. A low voice rich with concern wound through the scrape of the station's inner airlock grinding through a juddering release. "You with me, love?"

Trip wiped his free hand against the cool of his beige cotton slacks and swilled his arid mouth with saliva. "Always."

" _Try_ to sound as if you mean it," Malcolm huffed, already across the station boundary and into the stark holding bay. His grip slackened, the prominent callus at the base of his middle finger snagging the one on Trip's thumb. "If you'd rather keep it to ourselves, you only have to say..."

_Damn!_

Reflexively Tucker's fingers clenched before the Englishman could get free. "Hell, no! It's just - aw shit, I don't know _what_ it is! I thought _I_ was gonna be calming _you_ down about this whole _goin' public_ thing, and look at us! You're like a fuckin' cucumber and I'm fallin' apart."

"I could throw a panic attack if it'd help." _Or snog you 'til you wouldn't notice Ambassador Soval, Admiral Leonard and the entire Andorian Imperial Guard queuing up to take photographs!_

Well-gnawed lips turned up into a sheepish grin. "Nah. And I don't want to hide us, Malcolm, I'm just - aw, hell! Shoot me now, willya?"

"I was considering kissing you, actually," Reed answered mildly, watching the smart retort die on his partner's tongue. "Well, it usually makes me feel better."

No daybreak was ever more dazzling than the relieved smile crossing that handsome sun-kissed face. "It's a big moment, going public," Malcolm continued levelly, never breaking eye contact. "Especially when your heterosexual credentials are _particularly_ well-established..."

Trip's squall of laughter washed the last tight knot of tension from his brow. "I'm never gonna live down that almighty royal bitch, am I?"

"Not with me around." The dull clang of Enterprise's hatch releasing made both men jump. Hastily Malcolm tugged his partner down for a potent kiss. "I'm sorry you're panicking, but when I woke up beside you this morning I realised that I want to do it every day from now on. I don't want to bolt from your cabin in my underwear before shift-change because I've been too scared to be me, and the only way I can do it is to front up now and damn the torpedoes, so to speak."

"Gawd I love it when you talk military!" Torn between laughter and awestruck tears Tucker yanked the smaller man into his arms, rubbing his hot face through Malcolm's hair. Overcome all over again by the miracle of having his feelings so passionately returned, he completely missed the _hiss-clang-hum_ of a pressurised seal giving way, oblivious to everything before the theatrical hack of Jonathan Archer clearing his throat.

And when he jerked back, ridiculous guilt all but stopping his heart, Malcolm merely turned in his loosened hold to lean comfortably against his heaving chest, supremely relaxed even while surveying a larger than expected welcoming committee. "Good morning, Captain - Commander," he purred.

T'Pol's eyebrows (plural, which didn't happen often) almost disappeared into her hairline. Behind her Crewmen Kelly and Dowler, both uniformed and stiff as cadets at their passing-out parade, gulped, their eyes out on stalks. "Hey, Malcolm," Archer replied casually. "Trip. Good vacation?"

"Sure was." Tucker rocked back onto his heels, one arm hanging at his side while the other remained defiantly around Reed's waist. "Jen, you got something to report, or are you just waitin' for the mailman?"

"Er, Rostov and I figured you'd want a status report immediately, Sir." Jennifer Kelly wet her lips, glancing from her departmental chief to the captain and back. "I mean...."

"ThestationteamfinishedinthearmourylastnightLieutenant," Dowler butted in, virtually incomprehensible in his panicked haste and not daring to meet Reed's neutral stare. Trip, struggling not to dissolve in a messy puddle of mingled terror and relief, ducked behind his lover's shoulder.

"Good. Excellent." The faint tremors running into his back were a distraction Malcolm didn't need, exacerbated by the Vulcan Gimlet Glare he could feel burning through his forehead. "I, ah, I'll come up as soon as I'm back in uniform, yes. Thanks for reporting so promptly, Tom."

"Pleasure, sir." He was fairly sure his subordinates didn't usually blush when he descended into informality. 

There again, he'd never seen T'Pol so rigid the smallest shudder through the hull would snap her spine. And if that wasn't the Vulcan equivalent of dancing about like a flea in hot ashes with repressed rage, Stuart Reed was First Lord of the bleeding Admiralty.

Eternity seemed to yawn ahead of them. Trip stared at the fidgeting Dowler. Kelly got engrossed in counting the scuffs on her toecaps. T'Pol's eyebrows eased reluctantly down to their normal level. 

Malcolm found himself considering a forced fart just to shatter the pained silence engulfing the entryport. 

Archer got in ahead with an embarrassed cough. "You didn't take uniform on vacation, Lieutenant?" he joshed, too loudly. "And here I was thinking you were sewn into it!"

He could feel the heat rising through the wonderful body at his back, spreading its blush through contact. "I left my rank pips as well if that makes it a disciplinary offence, Sir."

Kelly squeaked. Trip's shudder rippled down his spine and into his arse. _Bollocks. Now they're all thinking how Commander Tucker might care to discipline you, cretin!_

"I guess I can overlook it this time." Always ridiculously readable, Archer's craggy features flooded with gratitude at the wave of warmer air across the linking platform that signalled another straggler rejoining their ship. "Good morning, Hoshi."

"Captain." Dark eyes swept the group, dismissing the shocking sight of the Chief Engineer cuddling the Armoury Officer without even appearing to notice it.

Malcolm could have kissed her. 

"It's good to be back," she continued, returning T'Pol's minimal nod. "My nephews are wonderful, but give me a six-way dialogue without the UT any day over two under-fives yelling at once in mixed Japanese and English! Hi, Ethan."

"Um, yeah, hello, Ensign." Novakovic looked like Trip felt: flustered, nervous and smug as hell as he retracted his hand from Serena Hayes' grasp. "Excuse us - I mean permission to come aboard, Sir?"

"Sure." Archer tipped his head. Delicately extricating himself from his lover's hold, Malcolm eased by the captain's larger frame. 

"We do seem to be rather blocking the gangplank, Sir," he hinted. 

Crewman Dowler tripped over his own feet in the rush to escape which at least, Trip noted, gave Kelly something to focus on as she grabbed his flailing arm. "Dismissed, people," Archer chuckled, ushering his subordinates through the ship's hatch ahead. "Join me for dinner tonight, Trip - Malcolm?"

The Southerner answered for both of them. "Gladly, Cap'n. C'mon Malcolm, we'd better dump our stuff and get changed before he changes his mind on that _disciplinary action._ "

"I'll let it pass - this time." Laughing, Archer took a step forward with Hoshi on his heels. "Malcolm? Everything okay?"

"Sorry, Sir." Giving himself a shake Reed smiled at his C.O., surprised by the wave of affection that hit him under Archer's answering grin. "Just listening for the bush telegraph firing up."

"It's gonna be buzzing: not just us, but Ethan and Serena as well." Tucker ran a hand back through his carefully-groomed hair, suddenly sheepish. "I didn't see that one coming!"

"From the looks on their faces when they saw where your hand was, Commander, I suspect they're saying the same about us." The title, Trip mused, was just another weapon in his boyfriend's erotic arsenal, one that melted his bones faster than an antimatter explosion. "Bollocks - pardon my French, Sir. They're going to slip right under the radar, aren't they? Everybody's going to be staring at us."

"Paranoia's an occupation hazard for tactical officers, Sir." When he glared, Hoshi stuck out her tongue at him and Malcolm had to laugh. 

"And we've got the best there is," Archer concluded, jade eyes sparkling even if he reached to pat the Englishman's heaving shoulder as cautiously as a man about to pet a giant Tarkelian tiger. "Take your time getting back on duty, guys - they've found a glitch in the navigational array, so we're grounded for another forty-eight hours."

"Lemme at it, Cap'n; I'll have us hitting Warp Three by dinnertime."

"You're off-duty until I say so, Commander." There was no hesitation with Trip, and Jonathan Archer thumped his shoulder like a fond brother. "Hoshi, I'll walk you to your quarters. How's your Dad getting on after the operation? See you for dinner, guys!"

"See ya, Cap'n." With a glance around the now deserted entry hatch, Trip exhaled a noisy sigh. "Well, that went okay."

Malcolm jerked his head toward the nearest corner. "It's not over yet." Raising his voice, he swivelled to face the interloper. "Commander T'Pol, is there something we can do for you?"

"You got x-ray vision or something?" Tucker demanded as the Vulcan woman stepped out from behind the bulkhead. Reed shrugged.

"Shadows," he said succinctly, dropping a pace behind the taller man on his quick-march toward the malingering Vulcan. _Shifty_ , he thought. Madam Unemotional could have qualified as its entry in a pictorial dictionary.

"I apologise for the intrusion, Lieutenant." The stiller she was, the more turbulent the emotions barely controlled by her lifetime's training. Reed was disconcerted to realise how similar he and his predecessor ( _rival_ , his mind supplied unbidden) really were. "But I have something important to discuss with Commander Tucker."

"I'll go and get changed then."

Tucker's hand shot out to impede his escape, but what really stopped him was T'Pol's diffident request. "Please stay, Lieutenant. As the Commander's partner, what I have to say directly concerns you."

The fingers around his wrist bit deeper. "Shucks, what gave us away?" Trip muttered. The Vulcan's right eyebrow rose. "Okay, dumb question, but you've got me worried here. Did they break our bond?"

"Yes." Her gaze barely flickered, but Trip got the point. Groaning, he raked his free hand through his hair.

"I got no secrets from Malcolm, T'Pol," he said tiredly. "And it's good the bond's gone, right? You said it was dangerous, having an unwanted connection between us."

"Dangerous?" Malcolm's lips thinned. T'Pol's puckered into a tight pout.

"The mental link was destabilising the psychological welfare of us both," she pointed out, just retaining her habitually disinterested tone. "In addition to the pain it caused you, Lieutenant. Your unrestrained emotional impulses affected my self-control, Trip, and although you couldn't understand them, my thoughts caused confusion and distress when they mixed with yours. Once the link was severed I was able to see that your sexual and emotional impulses had never been focussed on me. Our liaison was a mistake."

Though her voice never wavered Reed caught the miniscule tightening of her full, glossed lips and something in his heart twanged with unexpected compassion. In her inimitable Vulcan way, T'Pol really did love Trip Tucker.

Even enough to let him go. He doubted he could equal that magnanimity.

"Had the link not been severed, my presence in your mind might have adversely affected your relationship with Lieutenant Reed; and while you could form a more satisfying relationship elsewhere I would have remained in your mind, unable to release myself to a mutual bond with a suitable mate. When I next enter Pon Farr the consequences of an unrequited bond could be - unpleasant." 

A caw of laughter rolled down the corridor from an unseen source. Malcolm cleared his throat. "Perhaps we should discuss this in a less public arena?" he suggested tightly. Trip bit his lip.

"If we've gotta discuss it at all." he growled.

His ex and current lovers shared a speaking look before setting off at the double for the waiting turbolift. "It's not logical to contemplate hypothetical futures, Commander," T'Pol reminded him. "You belong with Lieutenant Reed: when the time comes, I'll return to Vulcan and initiate a fully requited bond with a suitable partner. To use a human expression: the past is a foreign country. They do things differently there."

A masculine hand covered hers on the turbolift control. "L.P. Hartley - The Go-Betweens," Reed approved. "And to paraphrase another - George Santayana, I believe - those who fail to learn from the past are doomed to repeat it."

"I got no intention of repeatin' _that_ mistake!" Tucker erupted before T'Pol could gather her thoughts. "Jesus, darlin', how dumb do you think I am?"

"There's always going to be bond between you, that's all I'm saying." Letting his hand drop Malcolm collapsed back against the wall, forcing himself not to shrivel beneath matched mistrustful stares. "Elizabeth's existence is a connection no Vulcan priest could sever, and frankly you do her a disservice if you even try to forget. Anyway, even if T'Pol's mental discipline stretches to specialised amnesia, you and I can't just wipe the slate clean. What happened, happened."

He thought her huge dark eyes widened a fraction. "Your logic is impeccable," she murmured. "Malcolm."

Trip's quick gasp seemed to resound around the lift's confined space in the last instant before escape beckoned. Perhaps, Reed mused, he wasn't alone in hearing in the use of his name a peculiarly Vulcan form of blessing.

"Hell if you both think that, who'm I to argue?" He just wanted this whole humiliating conversation done with, and Trip was damn sure they knew it even before he bolted into the hall. "See y' later, T'Pol."

Deliberately he turned them left, away from his quarters and the Vulcan's that faced them in favour of Malcolm's interior cabin around the corner. "You're still fretting over T'Pol and me aren't you?" he asked plaintively, throwing himself headlong onto the bunk without invitation. Stopped in the act of unzipping his bag, Malcolm hung his handsome head.

"Yes," he said simply. "I know you love me, but that whole _thing_ with T'Pol's going to play on my mind until I can convince myself she doesn't want you."

"It doesn't matter even if she does, 'cause I'm yours." A frisson of guilty excitement ran down Trip's spine at the idea of a jealous Reed, but the serious set of the lieutenant's features killed it stone dead. "And didn't you hear her calling what we did a stupid mistake?"

Stormclouds rolled through Malcolm's treacherously expressive eyes. "I wish I could have missed it. Insensitive cow. Just because she's got no feelings, she thinks nobody else has."

"C'mere." Het up and affronted on his behalf, Tucker thought his adorable lover had never been so unspeakably cute. Before he could spoil the moment by telling him so, he sprang off the bed and occupied his mouth in a safer way, kissing the willing Englishman until their surroundings blurred with a warning of imminent oxygen starvation. "I'm sorry I hurt you so much, Malcolm. It's me that has to make things right, not T'Pol."

"I'd say you've made a promising start." The shame twisting those lovely level features squeezed his heart like a concertina and he couldn't resist using gentle fingers to smooth them out. "And really it's my fault, not hers. It just doesn't make sense that, given a choice between her and me, you'd choose... me."

"Doesn't make sense to me that you can still love the guy who treated you like shit for over a year," Trip retorted, mirroring the circling motion of Malcolm's fingers on the smaller man's face. "Hell, if makin' sense was a Starfleet requirement I'd never have gotten through the Academy! How about another kiss before we get back to bein' officers, Lover-man?"

The Englishman stretched his graceful neck. "I think I can manage that," he cooed before pulling his boyfriend back down.

Several minutes later and more than a tad hot under the collar Tucker stepped back, shaking his head in the vain hope of clearing it. "Isn't there somethin' I' m supposed to be getting back to?" he rasped. Reed cocked his head.

"Work, Commander?" he suggested sweetly while licking the last taste of his lover from his lips. Trip swallowed hard.

"Yeah. That. Meet for lunch, 1230 hours?"

For an instant he hesitated, conscious of the crewmates who would be thronging Chef's territory at that time. Then, on a rush of exhilaration that made him feel quite faint, Malcolm nodded.

Barely aware of the other man's departure he set about getting changed with a silly smile stretched, Phlox-like, across his sharply-drawn face. It was good to be home.

Ambling into the bathroom he was confronted with his bedazzled reflection. "What have you done to me, Charles Tucker?" 

The happy image in the mirror and the bubbling sensation in his gut were all the answer Malcolm needed. Together they had banished the demons of his youth, overcome the trauma of Trip's double loss, and now, without trying, surmounted the barrier the great daft redneck lummox wouldn't even have known stood before them. 

Everyone aboard would know by now and yet instead of cowering in a corner, Malcolm Reed wanted to stand on the saucer section and sing. Trip Tucker loved him, and he didn't care if the whole universe stopped to point and stare. 

For the first time in his life, he was free.


End file.
